Animorph Percy and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief
by Yugioash
Summary: What if instead of Chiron throwing Riptide, Percy unlocked a rare ability of children/descendants of Poseidon-the ability to turn into animals. How will this ability affect Percy's life, now that he must find Zeus' stolen master bolt. Percy's POV. This is NOT a crossover with Animorph book/tv series or have anything to do with that series.
1. I Turn into a Lion

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **Animorph Percy and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief**

 **I Turn into a Lion**

No, I'm not connected to some television and/or book series (at least I think there was a book series like that), where kids gain the power of turning into animals after helping an alien. In fact, only reason I'm called this is because it's the easiest way to explain my powers. Although I wish I was, as it would explain everything.

My name is Percy Jackson, and I thought I was just a regular delinquent kid with ADHD and Dyslexia my whole entire life.

Boy, was I wrong.

It started a few months ago—back in May I think—when I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for trouble kids in upstate New York. I was in this sixth grade class field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of art in Manhattan to look at some Greek and Roman stuff.

Most of the time Yancy field trips were boring, but our Latin teacher: Mr. Brunner, was leading this trip.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket that always smelled like coffee. At first appearance you wouldn't think he was cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also have this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons. So, yeah, he's pretty cool.

This field trip I was determined to be good. Which wasn't easy.

I have a bad reputation when it comes to field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield and I accidentally shot an old Revolutionary War cannon at the school bus. In my defense I thought I heard something behind the bus that scared me, but no one believed me since no one else heard it. Before that, at my fourth-grade school, there was this incident at the behind-the-scenes tour of Marine World Shark pool where I hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim.

Basically, every field trip I been to, there been trouble.

The headmaster even had put me on probation with a threatened-warning of in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

Because of this, I stayed put all the way into the city as the school bully Nancy Bobofit, who was this freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, throwing wads of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich at the back of my friend Grover's head, where it stuck to his curly brown hair, knowing I couldn't do anything about it.

The problem was, Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that he was crippled with some kind of muscular disease in his legs that makes it painful for him to walk, and yet let him run—especially on enchilada day in the cafeteria. Despite the fact he can run though, Grover has a doctor's note excusing him from P.E. for the rest of his life.

Still, I'm fuming over the fact that I'm on probation while Nancy was getting away with throwing chunks of her disgusting lunch at my best friend's head. Nancy rarely gets in trouble despite her reputation as a kleptomaniac that got her send to Yancy in the first place. Mostly because she does it when I'm around that way, she can blame it all on me.

You think teachers wouldn't believe a kleptomaniac, but you'll be surprise whose side they take when it comes between her and a guy once shot a cannon at a school bus or almost drown his classmates (as my previous schools puts it).

"I'm going to kill her," I growled lowly which Grover often compared to a wolf.

I don't know why, but I can mimic many animal sounds when I'm angry or frustrated, but any time I try to do it any other time, I couldn't pull it off. In fact, many of my senses seem to heighten when I'm angry or frustrated. Which is why I thought I heard something back at the Saratoga battlefield. Some kids were being annoying and wouldn't shut up as I tried to listen to the instructor on how to prepare a cannon and well… the rest is already explained.

Grover tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."

He dodge another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Grover pulled me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

How can I forget? It's a constant reminder of just how much my life stinks.

…

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.

He rode up front of the class in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass full of really old black-and-orange pottery that was over three thousand years old.

A few other things caught my attention: a model of the first chariot, a mosaic of the twelve task of Hercules—mostly stuff that either represents the gods and heroes, but what also catches my attention is the carvings and pictures of certain animals. I don't know why, but I always wonder what it was like to be some of these animals. Some might joke that maybe I wanted to turn into a bird and fly away from school so I can spare them the expulsion. As true as that may sound, I don't think that was the reason.

Anyways, Mr. Brunner gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker known as a _stele_ , for a girl about our age. He even started telling us what the carvings on the sides meant, which would have been interesting to hear if the rest of the class wasn't talking. Even if I tried to tell them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month. What's worse is when Nancy wants to accuse me for something, she always turns to Mrs. Dodds, so even if I wanted to avoid trouble with her, I can't.

Mr. Brunner was talking about Greek funeral art, when I couldn't take hearing Nancy snickering about the naked guy on the stele anymore. I turned to her and said, "Will you _shut up_?"

Unfortunately, it came out louder than I meant it to, and the whole class started laughing, causing Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Mr. Jackson," he said, "did you have a comment?"

My face was totally red as I said, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

Although there were a few things I pay attention too when it comes to Greek Mythology, there are other stuff I have trouble with. But when I turned to the carving Mr. Brunner was pointing at—which was of some guy swallowing five of his children one at a time, I felt a flush of relief as I recognize it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, although he didn't sound satisfied. "And he did this because…"

I racked my brain trying to remember. "Well… Kronos was the king god—sorry, titan—and he didn't trust his kids who were gods, due to some kind of curse his father: Ouranos put on him for chopping him into pieces. So Kronos ate his first five kids. But his wife—Rhea right? She hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And when Zeus was a fully grown god, he tricked his dad: Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continued. "And the gods won."

There were some snickers from my classmates, which was typical. But I doubt Mr. Brunner would turn me in for causing a little laughter considering it was caused by my answer as long as I'm correct—and judging from Mr. Brunner's expression, I was.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job application, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids."

"And why, Mr. Jackson," Mr. Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover muttered.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair.

Leave it to Mr. Brunner to catch Nancy saying something wrong.

I would be enjoying this moment, but I was thinking about Mr. Brunner's question. It sounded like it should be something important to know, but Mr. Brunner makes anything he teach sound like that. So my answer ended up being: "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looked disappointed (that's never good). "Well, half-credit, Mr. Jackson."

Dang it. Being a C to D graded student I could use that full credit.

"Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his five other children, who, of course, being immortal gods and goddesses, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father with some help from allies they gathered, and sliced Kronos to pieces with his own scythe—just as Kronos has done with his father Ouranos which led to the curse Percy added earlier—and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, following Mrs. Dodds outside. The girls were holding their stomachs as the guys were pushing each other around acting like doofuses.

I was about to follow Grover outside, hoping to avoid Mr. Brunner and one of his life lessons he gives if he feels a student fails to understand the meaning of his lessons that involves life.

"Mr. Jackson," Mr. Brunner called.

Dang it!

"Go ahead, I'll meet up with you outside," I said.

Grover nodded and headed outside with the rest of the class.

Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

As always, Mr. Brunner was giving me this look that make you think he was thousands of years old and seen everything, and thus makes you know you can't escape him no hard you try.

"You must learn the answer to my question about real life, and how your studies apply to them," Mr. Brunner told me.

"Okay…"

"What you learn from me," he started. "is vitally important. Anything you learn, is vitally important. You never know when they will apply and thus you must prepare yourself for the possibility of it coming up. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson."

And that struck a nerve. Mr. Brunner always seem to expect the best out of me, as if I'm supposed to be better than anyone else in school, despite my struggles through class because of my ADHD and dyslexia. Heck, it amazes me I'm even in the sixth grade considering I often get expelled before I finish a grade.

But I know I wouldn't get out of here if I tell Mr. Brunner otherwise, so I muttered something about how I would try harder.

Mr. Brunner gave a long sad look at the stele, as if he been there, and told me to go outside and eat my lunch.

…

The class was gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead there was a huge storm brewing, as the clouds over the city were black. The weather in the state of New York been bad since Christmas. We had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. It wouldn't be so shocking if this turn out to be a hurricane blowing in.

Of course, nobody else was paying attention to the weather. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I were trying to avoid the rest of the class by sitting at the edge of the fountain, hoping no one else would know we were from a school for freaks and delinquents that couldn't belong in anywhere else.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah, just another life lesson," I said. "I just wish Mr. Brunner lay off me sometimes."

Grover remained quiet, so I was expecting some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better. Instead, he said. "Can I have your apple?"

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it as I watched the cars passing Fifth Avenue. We're not far from my mom's apartment, and I started wishing I could turn into a pigeon so I can fly home.

I haven't seen my mom since Christmas, and I know she would be glad to see me. But I also know she'd be disappointed too, and send me right back to Yancy, even though I probably going to be kicked out of school before the semester was over.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his wheelchair, making it look like a motorized café table.

I was about to unwrapped my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of us with her ugly friends and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool and count to ten, as my school counselor had told me a million times. But I was so mad my mind went blank and a roaring sound filled my ears like waves.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Around us, the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I didn't have time to process what they were saying as Mrs. Dodds materialized in front of us as appearing out of nowhere, with a triumphant look in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester.

Great. Now I have detention to pile onto with in school suspension.

"Now, honey—" she said.

"I know," I grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks."

Mrs. Dodds looked infuriated, making me wish I kept my mouth shut.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. _I_ pushed her."

I stared at Grover completely stunned. Mrs. Dodds normally scared Grover to death, but here he was, covering for me—or at least trying too.

Mrs. Dodds glared at Grover so hard that his whispery chin trembled with fear.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.

"But—"

"You— _will_ —stay—here."

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I told him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at me. _"Now."_

Nancy Bobofit smirked, but I gave her one of my I'll-kill-you-later stares. Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds only to find she wasn't there. Instead, she was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How the heck does she do that?

Seriously, this isn't the first time something like this happen. One moment things are going normal, the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe leaving me with the gap left behind. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, and that my brain was misinterpreting things. But something tells me otherwise.

Well, I might as well go after her and get this over with.

I started up the stairs, but stopped halfway to look back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up only to see that Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. After looking around and not finding her, I'm guessing she was now inside the building.

Great. She's probably going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy from the gift shop.

Whatever the reason was, I went into the museum to search for her, only to find her at the Greek and Roman section—which she was the only occupant in.

Okay. Weird. Our class wasn't the only people here before, so where is everyone? Did they all go out for lunch?

Mrs. Dodds just stood there with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat that sounded like growling.

If it wasn't for this place being empty, I would be calm. But with no one here, I was getting nervous. It wasn't helping that Mrs. Dodds was looking at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it.

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said.

I decided to go with the safe approach. "Yes, ma'am."

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes at this point look evil, which really shouldn't be on a teacher's face. Sure there can be bad teachers, but usually it's not a good thing when they look evil.

 _Stick to the safe approach,_ I reminded myself, and said, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shook the building.

"We're not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she was talking about. I mean, sure I wasn't the best example of model student. I mean, I sell illegal stash of candy from my dorm room, and may of got my essay on _Tom Sawyer_ online without reading it, but trust me, that's actually normal in Yancy. What do you expect from a school for delinquents?

So, what could Mrs. Dodds be talking about?

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't…"

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human—not anymore at least. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

For some reason I turned to the mosaic of Hercules' first task—the one where he killed that lion with invincible fur. I wished I could be a lion right about now. I can imagine myself as one, with a mouth full of fangs that can rip this—this thing apart.

That was when the strangest thing happened. As I imagine myself as a lion like the mosaic, I feel hair growing all over my body, especially around my head. My mouth extended as fangs grow in. My body reshape itself until I couldn't stand on two legs anymore and I drop to my—paws? What the heck just happened to me?

I didn't have time to respond as Mrs. Dodds lunged at me. Using reflexes I never knew I had, I dodge her and crouch my hind legs, as if feeling it was the right thing to do.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes. She snarled, "Die, honey!"

I responded with a loud roar that resembles a lion roar. Thinking back on it, that should have been an indicator that I was a lion at this point.

Mrs. Dodds flew straight at me, but I didn't let her attack. I let my instincts kick in as I sprang forward and lunged at her. I tackled her into the ground. Then withtout thinking, I sunk my fangs into her throat and tore it apart.

Instead of dying, Mrs. Dodds turned into a pile of sand that blew into the wind under me, leaving a sulfuric smell.

Then I was me again. I don't know how, but I was human—wearing the clothes I came on this field trip with that I had no idea I wasn't even wearing when I was a lion. The only indicator of what just happen was the after taste of leathery skin that I planned to wash out when we get back to school.

Deciding I must of ate some bad mushrooms in my lunch, I went back outside.

…

It started raining while I was inside.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, using a museum map as a hat over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I blinked. "Who?"

"Our _teacher_. Duh!"

"What are you talking about?"

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was, hoping she was just hiding somewhere, waiting to punish me any moment for keeping her waiting.

Instead, he paused and didn't look at me as he said, "Who?"

Grover never was a good liar, and this was one of those times I knew he was lying.

"Not funny, man," I told him. "This is serious."

Thunder boomed overhead.

Grover avoided the answer, so I decided to talk to Mr. Brunner, who was sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book.

He looked up at me as I walk up to him. "Is something wrong, Mr. Jackson?" he asked before I said anything.

Leave it to Mr. Brunner to know something was up without me having to ask first.

"Sir," I said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

Okay. I wasn't expecting this from Mr. Brunner. Still I answer, "The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"


	2. I Saw 3 Old Ladies Knit Me Socks of Deat

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **I Saw 3 Old Ladies Knit Me Socks of Death**

Okay, I'm use to weird things. It been going on my whole life. But this is getting ridiculous.

Ever since the end of the field trip, the whole school was convinced that this perky blond woman name Mrs. Kerr had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

I even tried to spring up Mrs. Dodds once in a while to catch them in the lie, but they would just stare at me like I gone crazy.

Maybe I am. But I'm still not convince otherwise, because of Grover. Every time I spring it up on him, he would hesitate and avoid eye contact, like he always does when he lies.

Something happened in the museum. Which meant I really did somehow change into a lion.

If so, you would think I can convince someone just by turning into a lion right?

Wrong.

I haven't been able to change into a lion again since the trip to the Museum. I tried during my in-school suspension. Yeah, that's right. I still got in school suspension for what happened to Nancy. But with the whole incident at the museum, I didn't argue. But no matter how hard I try, I can't change shape, and I just got more frustrated.

The dreams sure didn't help. Ever since that night, I would dream of Mrs. Dodds attacking me.

Nor did the freaky weather, which seemed to have got worse since the field trip. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

My grades been effected by my mood too. It had slipped from Ds to Fs.

I also got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends, and was sent out into the hallway in almost every class. Even Mr. Brunner has pulled me aside many times to get me to calm down.

Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, who has to be the worse teacher for a dyslexic with ADHD to get, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests, I snapped. I called him an old sot for not helping me instead of calling me lazy.

The headmaster made it clear with a letter to my mom that following week that I was not invited back next year to Yancy Academy.

Fine with me. This school was one of the worse schools I been to. Not to mention, I been homesick since the field trip.

I wanted to be with my mom in our little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to go to public school and put up with my obnoxious stepfather and his stupid poker parties.

Sure there would be a few things I will miss in Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Grover, too, even if he been lying to me lately. He been a good friend, and I can't help but worry how he'd survive next year without me.

I'd miss Mr. Brunner's Latin Class too. Especially his crazy tournament days. Even his life lessons he insist on giving me.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about his lessons.

That evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the _Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology_ across my dorm room. Words started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes or Polydeuces. And I might as well forget about trying to understand the conjugation of Latin verbs.

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt. There was just no way I was going to reach Mr. Brunner's expectation.

After a minute, I took a deep breath, and picked up the mythology book.

I'd never asked a teacher for help before, but I had hopes that maybe Mr. Brunner will be able to give me pointers. If not, I can at least apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. This way, I don't have to leave Yancy Academy having Mr. Brunner thinking I didn't try.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. That's when I heard Grover saying, "…I worried about Percy, sir."

I froze hearing my best friend talk about me behind my back. A part of me wanted to get out of here, but another part of me want to find out why Grover is talking to Mr. Brunner about me.

Curiosity won as I inched closer.

"…alone this summer," Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the _school_! Now that we know for sure, and _they_ know too—"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing him," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the boy to mature more."

"But he may not have time. The summer solstice deadline—"

"Will have to be resolved without him, Grover. Let him enjoy his ignorance while he can."

"Sir, he saw her… he turned into a lion…"

"His imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince him of that. Including him turning into a lion."

Mr. Brunner didn't sound so certain about the last part as if the whole idea of me turning into a lion was something he never expect to happen in the first place.

Too be honest, I didn't expect it either at first. I still don't know how I did that.

"Sir, I… I can't fail my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Percy alive until next fall—"

That's when I accidentally dropped my mythology book. It hit the floor with a thud, causing Mr. Brunner to go silent.

Now I wish I can turn into a mouse and scurry out of here. Sadly, I was still human, and I had no other choice but to pick up my book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow _clop-clop-clop_ , like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn…"

"Go back to the dorm," Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office and I waited in the dark long enough to make sure no one would find me when I sneak out.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

…

Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam notes like he'd been there all night.

"Hey," he said, bleary-eyed. "You going to be ready for this test."

I grunted, not really wanting to say anything.

"You look awful." He frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Just… tired." I said as I turn my back toward him and started getting ready for bed.

I didn't understand what I'd heard downstairs. Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back as if I was in some kind of danger.

I just hope I did imagine the whole thing.

…

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam. Greek and Roman names that I know I misspelled were swimming in my eyes. Before I could leave though, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

Great. He probably found out I was eavesdropping the night before and wanted to confront me about it.

But that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Percy," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's… it's for the best."

His tone was kind, and quietly, as if trying to keep this private. Unfortunately, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit was among them as she smirked and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips. I really hope with me gone Nancy finally get caught as the troublemaker she is.

I mumbled, "Okay, sir."

"I mean…" Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

I couldn't believe my ears. Here was my favorite teacher, who always willing to give me life advice, telling me I couldn't handle it—that I was destined to get kicked out.

"Right," I said, trembling as my eyes stung.

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say… you're not normal, Percy. That's nothing to be—"

"Thanks," I blurted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me."

With that I ran out of the room before Mr. Brunner could stop me.

…

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase, and spend the rest of the day avoiding everyone else.

See, even though Yancy is a school for delinquents, it's a school for rich delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. Because of it, they can go on trips to Switzerland, or cruising the Carribbean for a month.

As for me, I'm from a lower middle class family and will most likely spend my summer walking dogs or selling magazine subscription while wondering which school I'll be going in the fall.

Whenever I bring that up to anyone I might of be friended in school, they turn their backs to me and act like I never existed.

There was only one person I dreaded saying good-bye too, and that was Grover. Fortunately, he had booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were together again, heading into the city.

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy. I always thought it was because of bullies, but there was no one else from school in the Greyhound with us.

After a few minutes, I couldn't take it anymore and asked. "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha—what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

"What's the summer solstice deadline?" I asked when I was finished.

He winced as if that was something he hoped I didn't hear. "Look, Percy… I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers… and turning into a fully grown lion…"

"Grover—"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds… and that no one could turn into a lion… and…"

"Grover, you're hesitating, which means you are lying," I responded.

Grover's ears turned pink as he started digging through his shirt pocket. He pulled out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out:

 **Grover Underwood  
** Keeper  
Half-Blood Hill  
Long Island, New York  
(800) 009-0009

I grew up in New York and been to Long Island, but I never heard of this Half-Blood Hill.

"What's Half—"

"Don't say it aloud!" Grover yelped. "That's my, um… summer address."

My heart sank as I came to realize that Grover was one of those rich kids. It never occurred to me that he was even rich. He was so kind and helpful when we met, unlike most rich kids I met. He didn't even act like he never seen me when I told him about how poor my family was.

"Okay," I said glumly. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion."

He nodded. "Or… or if you need me."

"Why would I need you?" I said harsher than I meant to.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Percy, the truth is, I—I kind of have to protect you."

I stare at him confused. All year long I been protecting him from bullies and getting into fights. I even started worrying about his safety next year without me. And yet here he is, telling me he was protecting me.

"Grover," I said, "what exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell of rotten eggs. The driver muttered incoherent words and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes of clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Grover and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road—no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. Our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of bloodred cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. Instead of customers, there were three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting socks the size of sweaters. The lady on the right knitted one of socks. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn.

The oddest part were the ladies themselves. They looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses. In other words, they look like they should be under assistant care and not out on the side of the road manning a fruit stand while knitting socks. And they were looking right at me.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood was drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover," I said. "Hey, man—"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? Do you think they would fit me if I turn into an elephant?"

"Not funny, Percy. Not funny at all."

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors—gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the bus," he told me. "Come on."

"But it's a thousand degrees in there," I complained.

"Come on!" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back—not wanting to roast in there while waiting for the bus to be fixed.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that _snip_ across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly for. I doubt I could fit them unless I really was an elephant.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we were on board and started moving again, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Percy, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"Those old ladies? What about them? They're not like… Mrs. Dodds, are they?"

His expression was hard to read, but I got this feeling that the old ladies were worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Just tell me what you saw."

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn."

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that looked like an older version of someone crossing himself.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord."

"Yeah, but I don't get what the big deal is."

Grover apparently did. He started mumbling, "This is not happening," and "I don't want this to be like last time," while chewing at his thumb.

"What do you mean last time?"

"Always the sixth grade. They never get past sixth."

"Grover!" I rose my voice with concern and fear. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me walk you home from the bus station. Promise me."

I agreed to his strange request, but it didn't make me feel any better.

"Grover, what is going on? What does snipping the cord mean?" I asked.

Instead of answering, Grover looked at me mournfully, as if I was a dead man walking.


	3. Grover Gives me an Unexpected Surprise

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **Grover Gives me an Unexpected Surprise**

Okay, I'll admit it. I ditched Grover as soon as we got to the bus terminal.

Grover was scaring me with his mournful look and muttering "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to be sixth grade?"

Fortunately for me, when Grover gets upset, his bladder acts up. So when we got off the bus, he made me promise to wait for him, then made a beeline for the restroom. Instead of waiting, I got my suitcase, slipped outside, and caught the first taxi to East One-Hundred-and-Fourth and First where my mom's apartment was at.

First thing you need to know about my mom is that she's the best person in the world, which also means she has the rottenest luck. Her name is Sally Jackson and her luck started going downhill when her parents—my grandparents—died in a plane crash when she was five. Then she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school during her senior year in order to take care of him. Sadly he didn't survive from his cancer, and when he died, he left my mom with no money, no family, and no diploma.

Then she met my dad, which was a good break for her.

I don't have any memories of him, just the barest trace of his smile, and the warmest glow that encase me, as if blessing me with his presence. Other than that I got nothing to know him by. Not even pictures of the guy. It doesn't help that my mom doesn't like to talk about him, but I can't blame her as she would get sad every time she does, which makes me feel bad for bringing it up.

See, they weren't married. She told me he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back.

My mom always told me that he was just lost at sea, and a part of me wants to believe her, but I later came to accept that he might be dead.

After that, my mom started working odd jobs during the day, taking night classes to get her high school diploma at night, and in between raising me on her own. She never complained or got mad, even though I wasn't an easy kid with a wild imagination of being an animal.

Finally, she married Gabe Ugliano, who was nice the first thirty seconds we knew him, then showed his true ugly self as a world class jerk afterwards. When I was young, I nickname him Smelly Gabe because the guy smell like moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts. And don't get me started with how he treats us.

Well, actually, you will find out anyways.

…

I walked into our little apartment, hoping my mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe was in the living room, playing poker with his buddies—including the super attendant of the building. If he wasn't one of Gabe's poker buddies, I got the feeling we would have been kicked out long ago. Especially with the way Gabe keeps the television blaring on ESPN, which I'm sure was some sort of disturbance, and how he has chips and beer cans strewn all over the carpet.

Gabe was this heavy weight fat guy that might as well resembles a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He was almost completely bald with an exception of three hairs that he had combed over his scalp, as if that was enough to make him handsome.

Hardly looking up, he said around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's my mom?"

"Working," he said. "You got any cash?"

That was a typical greeting from Gabe. No _Welcome back. Good to see you._ Or _How has your life been the last six months_. To him I might as well be some pest he can't seem to get rid of so he decides to take advantage of.

Here's the shocker: Gabe does work. He manages the Electronics Mega Mart in Queens. How he keeps his job, I would never understand, since he mostly stays home most of the time. If he wanted to, his paychecks combine with my mom could support this family better. But instead he collect paychecks to spend on cigars that makes me nauseous, and lots of beer.

He doesn't even keep some for his gambling unless I'm not around for him to weasel out of. Even then, I swear he takes that out of my mother's paycheck. But when I am around, he expects me to provide his gambling funds, calling it our 'guy secret.' He can call it whatever he wants, but I know if I told my mom or tried to argue against it, he would punch my lights out.

I could just tell him I don't have any cash, but that wouldn't work either. Gabe is like a bloodhound when it comes to money. If you have money on you somewhere, he'll sniff it out. Eddie does try to speak up for me, as he knows what Gabe's like and feels sorry for me, but he never wins an argument as the other two guys back Gabe up so they can win the money off him.

I dug a wad of dollars out of my pocket and threw the money on the table. "I hope you lose."

"Your report card came, brain boy!" he shouted after me. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

I slammed the door to Gabe's study that acts as my room when I wasn't in school. If you call a room full of old car magazines, muddy boots on the windowsill, and the lingering smell of his nasty cologne, cigars, and stale beer a study.

Now you see why I sometimes wish I could turn into a bird. Anywhere would be better than here when my mom is at work. Only when my mom is home that I tried to stomach Gabe enough to stay around. Even then it's not easy.

But this time, thinking of escaping my problems just remind me of the fact I left Grover at the bus station, after how panicked he looked. All because I couldn't handle being around Grover at the state he was in.

It don't matter now. I can't even figure out how I turned into a lion against Mrs. Dodds, so there was no way I can secretly snuck out to search for Grover without Gabe knowing, and even if I can, Gabe knows I'm here and I'm sure he'll let my mom know if she noticed I'm not here.

I'm starting to think the lion thing was just a fluke, and that even though I know Mrs. Dodds was real, I just got lucky against her.

That's when I heard my mom's voice: "Percy"

She opened the bedroom door, and my fears and frustration melted away.

No matter how angry or scared I was, my mom always been able to calm me down and feel better just by walking into the room. Her eyes sparkle and change colors in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few gray streaks mixed in her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, and none of the bad. I've never heard her raise her voice to anyone, much less say anything bad. Not even to Gabe or me.

"Oh, Percy." She hugged me tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas!"

Her red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniform smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, licorice, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central. She brought me a huge bag of "free samples," the way she always did when I came home.

I never told anyone before, but the candy I sold from my dorm room actually came from my mom—or at least half of them. I did keep the other half to myself. I just didn't want people to know I can have free candy samples from my mom incase they try to make me use my mom's kindness to their advantage through me.

I may need money to get through the school year, but I'm not about to manipulate my mother for others' selfishness. The kids at Yancy maybe rich, but that doesn't mean they won't use others to get free stuff. After all, they wouldn't be in Yancy if they were well behaved children.

We sat together on the edge of the bed and I attacked the blueberry sour strings. As I did, my mom ran her hand through my hair and demanded to know everything I hadn't put in my letters. She didn't mention anything about me getting expelled, and that was fine with me. I secretly like being mom's little boy if it means seeing her happy.

From the other room, Gabe yelled, "Hey, Sally—how about some bean dip, huh?"

I gritted my teeth and let out a little growl. Even in front of my mom, I would do that, mostly subconsciously. When I was little, mom use laugh as she would call me her little cub every time I did it. I never know what kind of cub she was talking about, but it didn't matter as I would just calm down and laugh with her.

But these days it been hard for me to calm down when she does that. It wasn't fair. My mom was the nicest lady in the world, and even if she didn't marry a millionaire, she deserves someone better than some jerk like Gabe.

I manage to calm down and told her about my last days at Yancy Academy. I told her I wasn't too down about the expulsion. Especially since I almost lasted a whole year this time. Not to mention I did make a new friend (Grover). And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster said. I would miss Yancy Academy, but nothing new for me really. I started choking up, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner.

Then the trip the museum came up.

"What?" my mom asked as her eyes started tugging on my conscience, "Did something scared you?"

"No, Mom."

I felt bad lying and wanted to tell her about Mrs. Dodds and the three old ladies, but I thought she wouldn't believe me. Especially if I told her about how I turn into a lion without knowing how I did it. Plus, I don't think she'd be too please about the idea of me finding out what leathery skin taste like in my mouth. I still have the sensation to wash my mouth out with mouth wash whenever I think about it.

Mom pursed her lips, which she does when she knew I was holding back, but didn't want to push it.

"I have a surprise for you," she said. "We're going to the beach."

My eyes widened. "Montauk?"

"Three nights—same cabin."

"When?"

She smiled. "As soon as I get changed."

I held back the desire to howl with joy. My mom and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money (more like he wanted to hog all the money for what he wants).

Speaking of Gabe, he used that exact moment to appear in the doorway and growled, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

Now I was back to growling lowly. But my mom met my eyes and I stop. It was obvious she wanted me to be nice to Gabe until she was ready to leave for Montauk.

"I was on my way, honey," she told Gabe. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes got small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"Don't worry, honey. I'm paying the trip myself using my dress funds. Besides, you won't have to settle for bean dip. I'll make my famous seven-layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe soften a bit and I knew she had him. Not that I can complain. I had her seven layer dip myself, and I can tell you, I would do anything she ask if it means she would make me more. That's why she saves it for occasions like this, when she need to get Gabe to agree with something she knows he didn't like. And if it is for something he was completely against, then she would increase the offer by making enough seven layer dip to last him as long as necessary.

"You won't take my car anywhere but there and back," Gabe said.

"We'll be careful."

Gabe scratched his double chin. "Maybe if you hurry with that seven-layer dip… and maybe if the kid apologized for interrupting my poker game."

My mom shot me another warning, as if knowing I would react to that.

This is so unfair. He talk to me first. I bet I didn't even interrupt his game. He probably just using it as an excuse for losing the money I gave him and wanted payback for it. He always did find a way to blame me for anything that went wrong. A pigeon could poop on his car, and he would find a reason to punish me for it.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important poker game. Please go back to it right now."

Gabe's eyes narrowed as if he was trying to detect sarcasm in my words through his tiny brain.

"Yeah, whatever," he decided and went back to his game.

"Thank you, Percy," my mom said. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about… whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, I thought I saw the same anxiety Grover had in my mom's eyes. But then she smiled and ruffled my hair before going to make Gabe his seven-layer dip.

Note to self: don't ask mom to make us some while we were at Montauk. The last thing I want is for her to bribe me with that dip, because I certainly would break and tell her if she did.

…

An hour later we were ready to leave.

Gabe had taken a break from his poker game just to watch me lug my mom's bags to the car instead of helping me himself. He just kept griping and groaning about losing her cooking and his precious '78 Camaro this weekend. And when he wasn't griping, he was threatening me that I better not scratch his car, as if I'm the one driving.

As we got the car packed, he lumbered back toward the apartment building. I decided to give that cross thing Grover did a try, and mad a claw hand over my heart then shoving movement toward Gabe. The screen door slammed shut so hard it whacked him in the butt and sent him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon.

I decided not to question it as I got in the Camaro and told my mom to step on it.

…

The family cabin was on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It was a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There was always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea was too cold to swim in.

I loved the place

It was one of the few things my mom inherited from her parents and uncle when they died. The only reason why we didn't live there was that it was meant to be a vacation home, not a permanent home. Meaning the only rooms in the cabin was the bathroom, and with a growing family, she couldn't live there forever. So instead, when we're not using it, she rents it out to co-workers and family friends she trusted to make some extra money. Especially in the last two years.

My fondest memories were at the cabin. Mom been taking me there since I was a baby, and although she never says it, I know it's there where my mom met my dad.

As we got closer to Montauk, mom seemed to grow younger, as if years of worry and work had disappeared from her face. Her eyes turned to the color of the sea.

We got there at sunset, opened all the cabin's windows, and went through our usual cleaning routine. We walked on the beach, fed blue corn chips to the seagulls, and munched on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples had brought with her from work.

I'm guessing you're curious about the blue food.

See, Gabe had once told my mom there was no such thing as blue food. They had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time. But ever since, my mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop. It just showed how rebellious she was, and that she wasn't totally suckered by Gabe. That, and keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano.

When it got dark, we made a fire and roasted hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom told me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash. I always liked hearing about my grandparents since I never knew them. I couldn't blame them for leaving mom with a careless uncle. Heck, I even carry my grandfather's name as my middle name with pride: Perseus James (although he gone by Jim for short) Jackson.

I use to ask my mom why she didn't just name me Jim, and she would tell me how she use to enjoy reading the Greek stories and was attached to the story of Perseus, who was the son of Zeus who despite having rotten luck at the beginning of his life, lived a full life and got a happy ending. She named me Perseus because she wanted me to have that same life.

After she was done telling me about my grandparents, she then told me about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop. As always, I told her if she ever get the chance to publish them I would be the first to read them, which always made my mom happy as she knew how much I hate reading because of my dyslexia.

Eventually, I got up the nerve to ask about what always on my mind whenever we came to Montauk—my father. Even though just mentioning it brings sadness to my mom, something about this place always gave her the courage to talk to me about him.

"He was kind, Percy," she said. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, too. You have his black hair and green eyes, you know."

Mom fished a blue jellybean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you, Percy. He would be so proud."

I didn't say it outloud but I had my doubts. Nothing about me seem great. I'm dyslexic and hyperactive with a D+ report card. I been kicked out of every school I been in. Not to mention I live in the delusion of being able to turn into animals, even though most would say I'm too old to have such childish thoughts.

"How old was I?" I asked. "I mean… when he left?"

She watched the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But… he knew me as a baby."

"No, honey. He knew I was expecting a baby, but he never saw you. He had to leave before you were born."

That hit a nerve. I had always thought my dad knew me as a baby from that faint memory. But this was the first time I found out he never even seen me. And now we're stuck with Smelly Gabe because he left my mom pregnant.

"Are you going to send me away again?" I asked, wanting to change the topic. "To another boarding school?"

She pulled a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey," she said with a heavy voice. "I think… I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" I found myself regretting my words.

My mom's eyes welled with tears as she took my hand, squeezed it tight. "Oh, Percy, no. I—I _have_ to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away. I thought Yancy Academy would be far enough away, and that you'd finally be safe."

"Safe? From what?"

She met my eyes, and a flood of memories came back to me—every weird, scary things that had ever happened to me, some of which I thought I had long forgot.

During the third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked me on the playground. When the teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, but no one believe me when I told them that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head.

Then there was an early memory of when I was in preschool. A teacher had put me down for a nap in a cot, not noticing a snake in it. My mom screamed when she came to pick me up and found me playing with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands.

I thought back to the shark exhibit at the Marine world in fourth grade—which was passed off as a freak accident for so long, I didn't think much about it. But now, when I think back, I could of sworn the fish were looking at me, asking me to free them.

Just another creepy thing that happened that led me to switch schools.

I knew I should tell my mom about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds at the art museum. How I turned into a lion and ripped the throat of Mrs. Dodd's monster form. But I couldn't make myself tell her. I had a strange feeling the news would end our trip to Montauk, and that was the last thing I want.

"I've tried to keep you as close to me as possible," mom said. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy—the place your father wanted to send you. And I just… I just can't stand to do it."

"My father wanted me to go to a special school?"

"Not a school," she said softly. "A camp."

My head was spinning with this new information. Why the heck would my dad want to send me to a camp? Why mom never mention it before? Just what is that place?

"I'm sorry, Percy," she said, seeing the look in my face eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I—I couldn't send you to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you forever

"For good? But—what is this camp?"

She turned toward the fire without answering, and I knew I better stop asking her questions on the matter, or else she would cry.

…

That night I was dreaming that I was in a storm that was hitting the beach, and there were these two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, fighting each other as if to the death on the edge of the surf. The eagle swooped down and slashed the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse reared up and kicked at the eagle's wings. As they fought, the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

I ran toward them, knowing I had to stop them from killing each other, but I was running in slow motion. The eagle dived down, aiming it's beak at the horse's wide eyes. I managed to scream: _No!_

I woke with a start.

Outside, it really was storming, so bad in fact, it could crack trees and blow down houses. Lightning shot through the sky, causing false day light, and twenty-foot waves were pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, my mom woke. She sat up, eyes wide, and said, "Hurricane."

As crazy as that sounds, considering it was too early for hurricanes to hit long island, I could sense otherwise. Not only that, but over the roar of the wind, I heard a distant angry-tortured bellow that made my hair stand on end.

Then there was a sound that resembles mallets in the sand, followed by someone yelling and pounding on our cabin door.

Mom sprang out of bed in her nightgown, and threw open the lock.

In the doorway against a backdrop of rain was Grover—or at least half of him.

"Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looked at me in terror of why Grover was here.

"Percy," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I was frozen, looking at Grover from the waist down.

 _"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!"_ he yelled. "It's right behind me! Didn't you _tell_ her?"

Now I'm confused as I just understood Grover foreign language perfectly: it was Ancient Greek.

"Perseus!" Mom talked in a tone she never used before with a sternly look.

That pretty much shock me out of my shock as mom never used my full name like that before. I manage to tell her about the old ladies at the fruit stand and about Mrs. Dodds. As I did, my moms' face grew deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

I was just about to decide if I should tell her about me turning into a lion, when she grabbed her purse, tossed me my rain jacket, and said, "Get to the car. Both of you. _Go_!"

Grover trotted toward the Camaro, shaking his shaggy hindquarters.

You heard me right. For you see, from the waste down, my friend had the legs of either a donkey or a goat, and where his feet should be were cloven hooves.

* * *

 **A/N:** Percy's next transformation will be in the next Chapter. For those confuse, I'm saving Percy's transformations for when he's fighting monsters until he can figure out how to do it at will as a form of life-or-death-situation-combine-with-Percy's-anger kind of trigger.


	4. I Bull-Out on Pasiphae's Son

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **I Bull-Out on Pasiphae's Son**

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. I didn't know how my mom could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover sitting next to me in the backseat and I wondered if I'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants—or maybe he tried to change form but was only able to half way and this was some kind of results. The smell made me think it was the second one—as it reminded me of a kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo—the smell of wet barnyard animals.

All I could think to say was, "So, you and my mom know each other?"

Grover's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you."

"Watching me?"

"Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I _am_ your friend."

"Um… what _are_ you, exactly?"

"That doesn't matter right now."

"Doesn't matter? You look like you morphed your waiste down to a donkey and—"

Grover let out a sharp, throaty _"Blaa-ha-ha!"_

I knew that sound. He made it many times before, but I always assumed it was a nervous laugh. But now I realized it was more of an irritated bleat. One that goats make.

"—Goat," I corrected myself. "You're a satyr, like from Mr. Brunner's Myths? How is this even possible?"

"You spend months trying to convince me you turned into a lion in order to kill Mrs. Dodds and you're asking me how is it possible I'm a satyr?" Grover asked.

"So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!"

"Of course."

"Then why—"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes, hoping it would convince you that what happened at the museum was a hallucination. But it was no good. You already started to realize who you are."

"Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean?"

The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail.

"Percy," Mom said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety."

"Safety from what? Who's after me?"

"Oh, nobody much," Grover said, "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions."

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

I tried to make sense out of what was going on, but I couldn't. None of this made sense.

My mom made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrowed road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The camp I told you about." Mom's voice was tight; she was trying for my sake not to be scared. "The place your father wanted to send you."

"The place you didn't want me to go."

"Please, dear," my mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger."

"Because some old ladies cut yarn?"

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to… when someone's about to die."

"Wait a second, you just said: 'you'."

"No I didn't. I said 'someone'."

"No, before that you said _you_."

"I meant to say someone. Not you."

"Boys!" my mom said.

She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

"We're almost there," mom said. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please."

I don't know where there was, but I found myself hoping we get there faster instead of trying to figure out what we just dodge.

Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island.

Then the hair rose on the back of my neck followed by a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling _boom!,_ and it felt like our car exploded.

I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time.

I peeled my forehead off the back of the driver's seat and said, "Ow."

"Percy!" mom shouted.

"I'm okay…"

I tried to shake off the daze. I wasn't dead, and it was clear now that our car didn't exploded. Instead, we swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side door were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in.

My guess is we got hit by lightning and was blasted right off the road. Next to me in the backseat was a motionless Grover. He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth.

"Grover!" I started shaking my best friend's furry hip.

He groaned "Food," and I sighed with relief.

"Percy," mom said. "we have to…" Her voice faltered as she look back.

I look toward her direction, and in a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear window, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge football player-like guy who look like he was holding a fuzzy blanket over his head with his hands raised in the air like horns.

I swallowed hard. "Who is—"

"Percy," mom said with deadly seriousness. "Get out of the car."

Mom threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" mom told me. "Percy—you have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?"

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole I saw a huge, White House Christmas tree size pine at the crest of the nearest hill. I'm guessing that was the tree mom was talking about.

"That's the property line," my mom said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door."

"What about you, Mom?"

She didn't answer but judging from her pale face and the sadness in her eyes that she gets when she looks in the ocean, I knew she planned to stay behind.

"No!" I shouted. "You _are_ coming with me. Help me carry Grover."

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder.

The muscle guy with the blanket over his head lumbered toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he _couldn't_ be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands—huge meaty hands—were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head was his head. And the points that looked like horns were actually horns.

"He doesn't want _us_ ," mom told me. "He wants you. Besides I can't cross the property line."

"But…"

"We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please."

I sure wish I could turn into a lion right now, or maybe a bull. Then I can carry both my mom and Grover.

I climbed across Grover and pushed his door open into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Mom."

"I told you—"

"Mom! I am not leaving you. Help me with Grover."

I didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, dragging Grover from the car. He was surprisingly light, but I couldn't have carried him very far if my mom hadn't come to my aid.

Together, we draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass.

Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of _Muscle Man_ magazine—bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except bright white Fruit of Looms underwear—which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Course brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and enormous black-and-white horns with electric sharpened horns.

I recognize the monster from one of Mr. Brunner's stories, but this couldn't be real.

"Pasiphae's son," Mom said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you."

"Mom—that's the Min—"

"Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power."

The pine tree was still way too far—a hundred yards uphill at least.

Fortunately the bull-man was hunched over our car, snuffing and nuzzling through the window, as if it can't see us fifty feet away.

"Food?" Grover moaned.

"Shhh," I told him. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?"

"His sight and hearing are terrible," she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough."

Just as she said that, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded.

So much for not scratching Gabe's car.

"Percy," mom said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way—directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

"How do you know this?"

"I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me."

"Keeping me near you? But—"

Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill.

Great, he smelled us.

The pine tree was only a few more yards, but at this point, the hill was steeper and slicker. It didn't help that Grover wasn't getting lighter.

The bull-man closed in like a charging bull.

"Now!" Mom said.

I jump to the left as mom and Grover jumped to the right at the last moment.

The bull-man stormed past us like a freight train and slammed horn first into one of the other trees. The bull man bellowed as he tried to break free, only to break one of his horns, causing it to bellow even louder in pain.

He then turn toward mom, who was setting Grover down in the grass.

We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side I could see a valley, just as my mother had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it.

The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing my mother, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover.

"Run, Percy!" she told me. "I can't go any farther. Run!"

But I couldn't move as the monster charged at her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifted her as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air.

"Mom!"

She caught my eyes, and manage to choke out the word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around Mom's neck, and she dissolved before my eyes, melting into light, shimmering golden form, as if she were a holographic projection. A blinding flash, and she was simply gone.

"No!"

Anger replaced my fear as a familiar sense of power rush through my system. I feel myself growing bigger as my body was changing shape. I dropped down to all four as my hands and feet melted away and turn into hooves. A tail sprout from my tail bone and my nose and mouth longated into a different snout as before. Biggest difference was that instead of hair growing around my head and neck I felt my skull protruding into two elongated horns.

I don't know how I did it, but I think I just turned into a bull.

I didn't have time to think twice about it as the bull-man was hunched over Grover, snuffling my best friend.

I pawed the ground and roared before charging at the monster.

It must of heard me because it looked up, and when I slammed into it, the monster managed to raise his hands to catch me by the horns and throw me back.

I regain my footing, which was hard as I can guess a bull didn't have the reflexes of a lion.

This time the bull man charged at me, but as he did, time seemed to slow down to the point I knew just what to. I circled around and dodge the bull-man. Then I kicked my hind feet at him, feeling the impact break a few of the monster's ribs. But I wasn't done. While it was dazed and bellowing in pain I turned around once more head slammed one of my horns into the monster's chest.

The bull-man roared in agony and flailed as he began to disintegrate into crumbling sand that was blown away in chunks by the wind, just as Mrs. Dodds did.

The rain had finally stopped. The storm still rumbled but only in the distance. I felt my body change shape back to my twelve year old self, but as I did, the effects of the battle came clear as my body scream with pain. It wasn't like when I was a lion. This time my whole body felt as if I tried to lift Gabe's Camaro with the bull man ontop. On top of that I was exhausted and almost ready to pass out.

But I can't. Not yet. I still got to get Grover pass the property line and at the farm house.

Despite my screaming body, I picked up Grover, and managed to haul him up and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farmhouse. I was crying for my mother as I did, but in as silent as I could.

The last thing I remember is collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at the ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl with blonde hair that curled like a princess. They both looked down at me and the girl said, "He's the one. He must be."

"Silence, Annabeth," the man said. "He's still conscious. Bring him inside."

* * *

 **A/N:** Since the bull is bigger than a lion, I thought it only be natural that a transformation would put a bigger strain on Percy's body since he's still new to it

Also at the end of the month this story will be put on hold. If you want to see it updated again, look out for it on my poll for which story I should update each month and hope it wins a poll


	5. I Play Cards with the God of Wine and

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **I Play Cards with the God of Wine and a Centaur**

I had a weird dream full of barnyard animals that either want to kill me or want food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovered over me, smirking as she scraped drips off my chin with the spoon.

When she saw my eyes open, she asked. "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I managed to croak, "What?"

She looked around, as if afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks."

I had no idea what she was talking about, but before I could answer, somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding.

Since it was clear the conversation was over I let sleep overtake me.

The next time I woke up, a husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He had blue eyes—at least a dozen of them—on his cheeks, his forehead, and the back of his hands.

Since all he did was watch over me, I guess he was no threat, so I just fell back to sleep as I still didn't feel strong or well enough to keep my eyes open.

…

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than what I was used to. Not even the boarding schools I been to was this nice.

I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over his legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty, but my body wasn't sore.

On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like ice apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry. It actually looked pretty good right about now.

I tried to pick the glass up, but my hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm he cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD.

"You saved my life," Grover said. "I… well, the least I could do… I went back to the hill and dug this out of the tree. I thought you might want it."

He placed the shoe box in my lap.

Inside was a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, and around it was chip bark like someone tried to break a piece of tree bark from it.

Seeing this brought back memories from the other night, including what happened to my mom.

"The Minotaur," I said.

"Um, Percy, it isn't a good idea—"

"That's what they call him in Greek myths—the Minotaur. Half man, half bull," I said. "And last night—I turned into an animal—like at the museum—but this time as a bull."

Grover shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know about the bull thing, you were human when I woke up, and no one said anything about seeing you change shape. Not to mention that was two nights ago—you were out cold for that long," Grover said. "What else do you remember?"

"My mom. Is she really…"

Grover looked down.

I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one in front of us was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.

And yet my mom was gone. How can I enjoy the beauty of this place knowing that.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm—I'm the worst satyr in the world."

He moaned, stomping his foot so hard his converse hi-top came of. Inside the shoe was filled with Styrofoam with an exception of a hoof-shape hole.

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled as he tried to get his hoof back in the fake foot.

Thunder rolled across the clear sky.

If it wasn't for the fact I am miserable, I would find that weird. I just don't know what else to feel now. I'm an orphan now, and I wasn't about to go live with Smelly Gabe. I wonder if this camp is one of those that let some campers stay all year long.

Grover wasn't holding up much better as he was sniffling. As much as I want to blame someone for this, I can't blame Grover for what happened to my mom.

"It wasn't your fault," I told him.

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to _protect_ you."

"Did my mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least… I was."

"Wha…" I suddenly felt dizzy as my vision started swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here."

He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.

I recoiled at the taste as it tasted like the home made blue chocolate-chip cookies my mom fresh out of the oven in a form of a drink. In other words, it was delicious and after drinking it, my whole body felt warm, good, and full of energy. It didn't take my grief away, but I felt like I did when I was small and my mom would give me a cookie before brushing her hand against my cheek, telling me everything was going to be okay.

Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass.

Grover looked wistful, like he wish he could drink it.

"Sorry," I said. "I should've stopped so you could try it."

"What? No! Sorry, I just… what did it taste like?" Grover asked.

"My mom's homemade chocolate chip cookies," I sighed.

Grover sighed along with me. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could scare Nancy by turning into a bull and going crazy on her," I responded.

"That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff."

"What do you mean?"

He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

…

The porch wrapped all around the farmhouse.

At first my legs felt wobbly as I tried to walk that far, but I managed. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but I held on to it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I wasn't going to let it go.

As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath.

We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school—age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Other rode horses down a wooded trail, and some of those horses have wings. I can't help but think how useful that form be if I can change into one of those creatures.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoon-fed me that pudding stuff was leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing me was a small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He was wearing a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt. He looked he might have been one of Smelly Gabe's poker/drinking buddies.

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's a camper, but she's been here longer than most campers. And you already know Chiron…"

He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.

As we got closer I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard, and although I thought it was just a chair at first—the motorized wheelchair.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cried.

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple-choice answers _B_.

"Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Uh, thanks." I scooted a little farther away from him. I can tell when an adult been drinking alcohol, and Mr. D obviously was one.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl.

She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now—hopefully not for long if I'm right about his shapeshifting powers."

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."

She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

She glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, then looked back at me. "You drool when you sleep."

She sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"So, you, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?" I asked, ready to change the topic.

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex—Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay," I looked at the director confused. "Mr. D… does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I must say, Percy," Chiron-Brunner broke in. "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?"

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a look out. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to… ah, take a leave of absence."

Now that he mention it, I think I do remember there being a different Latin teacher during my first week at Yancy. Then, explanation, he had disappeared and Mr. Brunner had disappeared and Mr. Brunner had taken the class.

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" I asked.

Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn, and to be honest I was skeptical when Grover told me you been talking about turning into a lion. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and judging from what we can guess from the battlefield, you might have been telling the truth—or got lucky in summoning a hoofed beast…"

"A bull," I said. "I turned into a bull."

Chiron shifted in his seat when I said that. "Right. Anyways, making it here is always the nfirst test, and you passed.

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

"Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You _do_ know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I said.

"I'm afraid not, _sir_ ," he said.

"Sir," I repeated, liking this guy less and less.

"Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all _civilized_ young men to know the rules."

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron said.

"Please," I said, "what is this place? What am I doing here? How am I able to turn into a Lion and a Bull? Mr. Brun—Chiron-why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, _I_ was his star student. He expected _me_ to have the right answer.

"Percy," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?"

"She said…" I remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me closer to her."

"Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I asked.

He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did, although I didn't like it. This guy was getting on my nerve more and more by the minute.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient;."

"Orientation film?" I asked.

"No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know you turned into a bull last night—a that hasn't been seen for thousands of years, and"—he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods-the forces you call the Greek gods-are very much alive."

I stared at the others around the table. Before the museum accident, I would expect someone calling 'not'. But I can turn into a lion and a bull, which I'm still wrapping my head around how I did that. Still. Greek gods being real is a lot to take in.

Mr. D yelled, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully.

"Wait!" I responded. "You're telling me such a thing as God? And what does it have to do with me being able to turn into a lion and bull?"

"Well, now," Chiron said. "God-capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. But gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the mortal gods of Olympus-the ones we discussed in Latin class. That's a smaller matter?"

"Smaller? Wait-you mean—" I said. "Zeus. Hera. Apollo-you mean them."

There was a distant thunder on a cloudless day again.

"Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you."

"But what does that have to do with me turning into a bull and lion?" I asked.

"Percy," Chiron said. "Your shapeshifting powers have everything to do with the Greek Gods. You might not believe it at first, but believe me, you have a rare gift that only the gods can give, but yours is a rarest gift that haven't been blessed on a single child since Neleus and his descendants."

"A pathetic waste of blessing if you ask me," Mr. D grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, I'm working with a boy who doesn't even know what kind of power he possessed. Unlike myself."

"Yourself" I asked.

Without answering, Mr. d waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight and bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine.

My jaw dropped, but Chiron hardly looked up.

"Mr. D," he warned, "your restrictions."

Mr. D looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!"

More thunder.

Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda and went back to his card game.

Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nympth who had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away-the second time, he sent me here, Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for runts like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Reconnect with my former demigod life. Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha! Absolutely unfair."

Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid.

"And…" I stammered, "your father is…"

" _Di_ immortales, Chiron," Mr. D said. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course.

Then it clicked: Wine. The skin of a tiger. Satyrs working here. Grover's treating Mr. D like he was his master. Mr. D saying he was a former demigod.

"You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine."

Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?"

"Y-yes, Mr. D."

"Then, well, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"

"You're a god."

"Yes, child."

"A god. You."

He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts.

Huh, I wonder if that is what I would look like if I turn into a dolphin?

I doubt a dolphin form help me out right now. Besides, I got the feeling if I push him, Mr. D might permanently turn me into a dolphin or worse, drive me so insane I'll be spending the rest of my life in a straitjacket in a rubber room.

"Would you like to test me, child?" he said quietly.

"No. No, sir."

The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."

Just when I think Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron out of his wheelchair, he sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too."

"I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, _again_ , but your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin Eleven, Percy Jackson, and you better pray your shapeshifting powers doesn't mean what Chiron thinks it means."

"What?" I responded.

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I asked Chiron. "And what did he mean by what my powers mean?"

Chiron coughed. "Well, the meaning of your powers isn't certain just yet." He said that as if just bringing it up might cause trouble. "As for Grover, Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been… ah grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Olympus?" I responded. "So that is really real?"

"Yes, but no longer in Greece," Chiron said. "It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do-moving with the Heart of the West."

"The what?"

"Come now, Percy. What you call 'Western Civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burn bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western Civilization were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know-or as I hope you know, since you passed my course-the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh different names perhaps-Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on-but the same forces, the same gods. Then to Germany, France, Spain, England. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. In fact, they were in England for centuries, although some did keep residence in France, but that tend to happen from time to time. Then in the 1800s, we came here to America. The proof is all over the country. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockerfeller center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. The heart is here in America, and so is Olympus and here."

This was a lot to process and I feel like I'm still missing something.

"Who are you, Chiron? Who… who am I?"

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair. But last I check, he was paralyze from the waist down.

"Who are you?' he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? Along with confirmation of the meaning of your powers. But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he id rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man. Then I realized he wasn't wearing velvet underwear but seem to be shapeshifting from the waist down into a white stallion with a human body from the waiste up instead of a head. Not only that, but the wheelchair was actually a magical box that contains his horse's half as Chiron's horse's half jumped out of the wheelchair.

"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come Percy Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry for the wait guys, I had a long depressing time. It didn't help I lost my cat Sally and a week later a kitten I was taking care of: David. It didn't help that I forgot to post a new poll a while back and decided to continue it onto this month. But thanks to my latest kittten Dexter, I feel refreshed.


	6. I Destroy the Camp Bathrooms…

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **I Destroy the Camp Bathrooms…** **and I Don't Know How I Did It**

Once I got over the fact my Latin teacher was a horse, we had a nice tour, though I was careful not to walk behind him. I'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, I'm sorry, I did not trust Chiron's back end the way I trusted his front.

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudge each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn I was carrying. Another said, "That's _him_. The shapeshifter."

Most of the campers were older than me. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I wasn't normally shy, but the way they stare at me made me uncomfortable. I felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or shapeshift or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized-four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

"What's up there?" I asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was being truthful, but at the same time I was certain I saw something.

"Come along, Percy," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

…

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe. Most of the campers had mousy brown hair and leafy green eyes, with an exception of two plump blonde kids that looked like were identical twins.

Chiron told me the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effort on his fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those not only because of his punishment but because we're kids and we don't need to be attempted to drink alcohol. So instead they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wonder if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I also wonder if he's still at the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron. "I mean… he was a good protector. Really."

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horse's back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him or her safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said, 'But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York.'

"It's not his fault! I ditched him!" I responded.

"Again, I agree, but it's not my place to judge. Then there's the unfortunate… ah… fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

"But it's not all his fault! Can't he get a second chance?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that _was_ Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age…'

"How old is he?" i asked curiously, as I realized I never found out how old Grover was. Not from trying, as anytime I asked, he just hesitates and mention that he was held back a few grades so he was older than most six graders. My guess was that he was worried about bullies finding out just how old he was as it would reveal just how many times he was held back making it easier for kids to pick on him.

"Oh, twenty-eight."

My jaw dropped. "What! And he's in the sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyrs standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career…"

"But what happened the first time? Was it really bad?'

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

I wasn't ready to let this go just yet, but the way Chiron talked about my mother's fate, he seemed to be trying to avoid the word _death_. That's when a thought popped in my head, igniting hope.

"Chiron," I said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real… does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now… until we know more… I would urge you to put that out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods."

…

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" I asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?'

"My own-?"

"No," Chiron said, "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" I asked.

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?" I decided to drop the subject.

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fat that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory, Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made from real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at, while Eight seemed to be made of solid silver similar to the Moon at night. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower bed, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed). Behind Six was a Garden Tool shed, although I had a feeling it wasn't filled with gardening tools.

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images and peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot.

Twelve cabins for twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I stopped in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. I peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull me back, I caught the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place felt so sad and lonely, I was glad when Chiron put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Come along, Percy."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red-a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALFBLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," I observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really…"

He smiled down at me " _The_ Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about _should_ be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish… and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?'

Chiron started acting like he was hard of hearing again, which made me guess it had something to do with death again.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

…

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked me over critically, like she was still thinking about how much I drooled.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture books.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on _old_. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it…? A caduceus.

Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"When, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at me, sizing me up. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."

So naturally I tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of myself. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, meet cabin eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody asked.

I didn't now what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined."

Everybody groaned.

A guy who was a little older than the rest came forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there."

The guy was about nineteen, and he looked pretty cool. He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wore an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" I asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers.

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given me. I had nothing to put there to mark it as my own, no luggage, no clothes, no sleeping bag. Anything I did had with me for the trip to Montauk was most likely destroyed along with Gabe's Camaro. Only thing I had left was the Minotaur horn and the clothes I'm wearing.

I thought about setting down the Minotaur's horn at least, but then I remembered that Hermes was also the god of thieves.

I looked around at the camper's faces, some sullen and envious as if I had something they wish they had that could help them out. Others, however, grinning stupidly and eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will I be here?" I asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined. Fortunately for you, if the rumors about your blessing is true, then it probably won't take long."

Rare blessing? Then it occurs to me he was talking about my shape shifting powers.

"Then how long should it take?" I asked.

All the campers laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told me. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it."

"Come on."

She grabbed my wrist and dragged me outside. I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind me.

When we were few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one."

"What's your problem?" I was getting angry now. "All I know is that I got some power to turn into a lion and a bull, and that I kill some bull guy—"

"Don't talk like that," Annabeth told me. "Rare blessings are one thing, but you know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for? Even those of us with a rare blessing don't always get that opportunity."

I shook my head. "Look, the thing I fought really was _the_ Minotaur, the same one in the stories…"

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"And he died, like, gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So…"

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up."

"They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form."

I thought about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one as a lion—"

"The Fur… I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"You talk in your sleep."

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Thunder boomed in the distance, and Annabeth glanced nervously at the ground, as she expected it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones, if we have to speak of them at all."

"Look, is there anything we _can_ say without it thundering?" I sounded whiny, even to myself, but right now I didn't care. "Why do I have to stay in cabin eleven anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

I pointed at Cabin Three and Annabeth turned pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or… your parent."

She stared at me, waiting for me to get it.

"My mom is … was Sally Jackson," I said. "She used to work at a candy store in Grand Central Station."

"I'm sorry about your mom, Percy. But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"He's dead. I never knew him."

Annabeth sighed. Clearly she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead Percy."

"How can you say that? Do you know him?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you say—"

"Because I know _you_. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about me."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"How—"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too."

I tried to swallow my embarrassment. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"And my shapeshifting powers?"

"Sometimes gods find a mortal they truly cared about enough that they blessed the child they have with that mortal with a unique power."

"Chiron said mine hasn't been seen in thousands of years," I stated.

"Which makes your powers even more unique." Annabeth said. "And without that ability and your ADHD, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia? Nectar?'

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turn your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you be dead. Face it. You're a half-blood.

A half-blood. Why do I got the feeling that word is a curse as well as a blessing?

Just then a husky voice yelled, "Well! A newbie!"

I looked over to see the big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward us. She had three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl said. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

 _"Erre es Korakas!"_ Annabeth said, which I somehow understood was Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Maybe she wasn't so sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward me. "Who's this little runt/'

"Percy Jackson," Annabeth said, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares."

I blinked. "Like… the war god?"

Clarisse sneered. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," I said, recovering my wits. "It explains the bad smell."

Clarisse growled. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy."

"Percy."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."

"Clarisse—" Annabeth tried to say.

"Stay out of it, wise girl."

Annabeth looked pained, but she did stay out of it, and I didn't really want her help. I was the new kid. I had to earn my own rep.

I handed Annabeth my minotaur horn and got ready to fight, and hopefully shapeshift into an animal. Maybe another bull.

Unfortunately, no matter how I try, I was still human, and Clarisse ended the fight with me in one of her arms around my neck. Now she was dragging me toward a cinder-block building that I knew immediately was the bathroom.

I was kicking and punching, trying my hardest to turn into an animal, any animal, but nothing happened as Clarisse kept her iron grip. She dragged me into the girl's bathroom. There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It smelled just like any public bathroom, and it didn't help with my concentration.

Clarisse friends were all laughing.

"So much for that shape shifting powers of one of the Big Three ," Clarisse said as she pushed me toward one of the toilets. "I bet you didn't really turn into that bull last night. Maybe the Minotaur hurt itself laughing at you."

Her friends snickered.

Annabeth stood in the corner, watching through her fingers.

Clariise bent me over on my knees and started pushing my head toward the toilet bowl. It reeked like rusted pipes and everything else that goes in the toilet. At this point I will take anything that would keep me from having my head dunk. Even whatever happened at the museum fountain with Nancy Bobofit.

Then something happened. I felt a tug in the pit of my stomach. I heard the plumbing rumble, the pipes shudder. Clarisse's grip on my hair and neck loosened. Water shot out of the toilet, making an arc straight over my head, and the next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the bathroom tiles with Clarisse screaming behind me.

I turned just as water blasted out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face so hard it pushed her down onto her butt. The water stayed on her like spray from a fire hose, pushing her backwards into a shower stall.

I don't understand how i know, but I got the strong feeling this was another power of mine. Which means what happened to Nancy at the Museum was most likely my doing too. With that though came another: _I really need to figure these powers out._

Clarisse struggled, gasping and her friends started coming toward her. But then the other toilets exploded too, and six more streams of toilet water blasted them back. The showers acted up, too, and together all the fixtures spray the camoflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning them around like pieces of garbage being washed away.

As soon as they were out the door, I felt the tug in my gut lessen and the water shut off as quickly as it had started.

 _I really need to figure these powers out_ , I thought as I noticed that the bathroom was now flooded. Not only that, but I apparently hit Annabeth with water too, but not out the door as she stood at her spot dripping wet, staring at me with shock.

Later on, according to Annabeth, I found out that somehow I was sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. There was a circle of dry floor around me, which might be why I was dry.

"Oops," I responded as I stood up with shaky legs.

"How did you…" Annabeth stopped as if trying to put together what exactly happened.

"I guess shapeshifting isn't my only power," I responded. "Other than that, I'm not sure. I'm… figuring it out as it goes." Not really, but I think it sounded better than all the stuff I had done so far is so far by accident or by luck.

We walked to the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair was flatten across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sopping and she smelled like sewage. She gave me a look of absolute hatred. "You're dead, new boy. You are totally dead."

Instead of letting it go, which might of been smarter, I said, "You want to see what else I can do, Clarisse? Keep it up and I'll show you I can do more than make bathrooms explode and change into animals!"

Okay, that wasn't completely true, as I didn't really know what else I could do, but I wasn't about to back down from Clarisse's threat. I just hope I can figure my powers out before Clarisse takes on my challenge as her friends hold her back.

They dragged her back toward cabin five, while the other campers made way to avoid her flailing feet.

Annabeth stared at me, which made me uneasy.

"What are you thinking?' I asked.

"I'm thinking," she said, "that I want you on my team for capture the flag."

* * *

 **A/N:** I can't have Percy having all the fun with just his shape shifting powers. Just like Leo has other powers of Hephaestus other than power of fire, and Piper have other powers of Aphrodite besides Charmspeak, and although Hazel doesn't have powers over the dead she does have some other powers of Pluto besides control over treasures and riches, Percy will have powers of water from Poseidon as well as other powers of Poseidon to go with his shape shifting powers.

As for Frank, he'll just have shape shifting powers along with the powers of Mars as he's a very long descendant of Poseidon. I doubt all descendants of Periclymenus have powers over water. Hazel said it herself, after three generations of Legacies most powers legacies inherited from their half-blood ancestor disappeared.


	7. My Dinner Goes Up in Smoke

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **My Dinner Goes Up in Smoke**

Word of the bathroom incident spread immediately. Now wherever I went, instead of people pointing at me mentioning about me shapeshifting, they pointed at me murmuring something about toilet water. It probably didn't help that Annabeth was still pretty much dripping wet.

She showed me a few more places: the metal shop (where kids were forging their own swords), the arts-and-crafts room (where satyrs were sandblasting a giant marble statue of a goat-man), and the climbing wall, which actually consisted of two facing walls that shook violently, dropped boulders, spray lava, and clashed together if you didn't get to the top fast enough. She even told me that shed saw was actually filled with weapons used by previous demigods, some dating back thousands of years.

Finally, we returned to the canoeing lake, where the trail led back to the cabins.

"I've got training to do," Annabeth said flatly. "Dinner's at seven-thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall."

"Annabeth, about the toilets. I didn't intend for you to be targeted," I explained. "I guess I still need to learn some more control over my powers."

Annabeth looked at me as if I was a puzzle she was still solving.

"You need to talk to the Oracle," Annabeth said.

"Who?"

"Not who. What. The Oracle. I'll asked Chiron."

I stared into the lake. I really wish someone can help me understand my powers.

I wasn't expecting anybody to be looking back at me from the bottom, so my heart skipped a beat when I noticed two teenage girls sitting cross-legged at the base of the pier, about twenty feet below. They wore blue jeans and shimmering green T-shirts, and their brown hair floated loose around their shoulders as minnows darted in and out. They smiled and waved as if I were a long-lost friend.

Not knowing what else to do, I waved back.

"Don't encourage them," Annabeth warned. "Naiads are terrible flirts."

Still trying to real in the day events, I decided to ask one other question that is on my mind. "You said I'm a half-blood. What does that mean exactly?"

"It means you're half-human and half god, demigods as mortals puts it," Annabeth said.

"Half god?"

Annabeth nodded. "Your father isn't dead, Percy. He's one of the Olympians… or one of the minor gods." Annabeth sounded doubtful on the minor god part.

"So every camper here are half-bloods?" I asked.

"Well, there are satyrs and Nature Spirits here as campers, but other than that, yes," Annabeth explained.

"Whose your dad then?" I asked.

Annabeth's hands tightened around the pier railing. I got the feeling I'd just trespassed on a sensitive subject.

"My dad is a professor at West Point," she said. 'i haven't seen him since I was very small. He teaches American History."

"Oh, he's human," I said and decided to change topics, "Then who's your mom?'

"Cabin six."

"Meaning?"

Annabeth straightened. "Athena. Goddess of wisdom and battle."

I thought back to Latin class and remember something about Athena. "I thought she is a virgin goddess, How can she have children?"

"That's none of your business!" Annabeth snapped before taking a deep breath, "Sorry, Percy, but that's not something Cabin Six don't like sharing with anyone we just met."

I nodded as I understand. It would be awkward for anyone talking about how they came to be.

"So… who's my dad?"

"Undetermined," Annabeth said, "Like I told you before. Nobody knows."

"I think my mom knew," I responded. "She use to talk about him like she knew him enough for the two to fall in love.'

Annabeth gave me a cautious look. She looked like she didn't want to burst my bubble. "It's unlikely, as the gods don't always reveal their identities. But if you're right, we still won't know unless he send a sign. That's the only way to know for sure: your father has to send you a sign claiming you as his son. Sometimes it happens."

"You mean sometimes it doesn't?"

Annabeth ran her palm along the rail. "There are some gods that won't hesitate in claiming their kids: my mom is one of them. Apollo and Demeter are another. But not all the gods are like that. They're always busy. They have a lot of kids and they don't always… Well, sometimes they don't care about us, Percy. They ignore us."

I realized then that's why there were campers at Cabin Eleven that seem depressed, they were waiting to be claimed. And from what everyone keeps saying about my powers, they might be the key to me being claimed.

"Maybe once I have control over my powers, my dad will claim me," I said.

"It's possible," Annabeth agreed. "There are campers here with blessed powers that were claimed, longest being a week, but that depends on how obvious that power is."

"Mine's pretty obvious," I responded. "At least when I can use them."

"I didn't say all blessings were easy to use," Annabeth said.

"So, am I stuck here for the rest of my life?" I asked.

"It depends," Annabeth said. "Some campers with family at home they can visit, they only stay the summer. If you're a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, or a minor god, you're probably not a real powerful force. The monsters might ignore you, so you can get by with a few months of summer training and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But if you don't have anyone home, or worse, it's too dangerous to leave as monsters sense us and come to challenge us, we can stay year-round. Fortunately, they'll ignore us until we're old enough to cause trouble—about ten or eleven years old and we rarely get campers younger. But after that, most demigods either make their way here, or they get killed off. A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous. Believe me, if I told you the names, you'd know them. Some don't even realize they're demigods. But very, very few are like that."

"So monsters can't get in here?"

Annabeth shook her head. "Not unless they're intentionally stocked in the woods or specially summoned by somebody on the inside."

"Why would anybody want to summon a monster?"

"Practice fights. Practical jokes."

"Practical jokes?"

"The point is, the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters out. From the outside, mortals look into the valley and see nothing unusual, just a strawberry farm."

"So… you're a year-rounder?"

Annabeth nodded. From under the collar of her T-shirt she pulled a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It was just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also had a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring.

"I've been here since I was seven," she said. "Every August, on the last day of the summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. I've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college."

"Why did you come so young?" I asked.

She twisted the ring on her necklace. "None of your business."

"Oh." Another sensitive topic I'm guessing. "So… I could just walk out here right now if I wanted to?"

"It would be suicide, but you could, with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission. But they wouldn't give permission until the end of the summer session unless…"

"Unless?"

"You were granted a quest. But that hasn't happened in five years. Last time…"

Her voice trailed off. I could tell from her tone that last time didn't go well.

"Back in the sick room," I said, "when you were feeding me that stuff—"

"Ambrosia."

"Yeah. You asked me something about the summer solstice."

Annabeth shoulders tensed. "So you _do_ know something?"

"Well… no. Back at my last school, I overheard Grover and Chiron talking about it. Grover mentioned the summer solstice. He said something like we didn't have much time, because of the deadline. What did that mean?"

She clenched her fists. "I wish I knew. Chiron and the satyrs, they know, but they won't tell me. Something is wrong in Olympus, something pretty major. Last time I was there, everything seemed so _normal_."

"You've been to Olympus?"

"Some of us year-rounders—Luke and Clarisse and I and a few others—we took a field trip during winter solstice. That's when the gods have their big annual council."

"But… how did you get there?"

"The Long Island Railroad, of course. You get off at Penn Station. Empire state Building, special elevator to the six hundredth floor. She looked at me like she was sure I must know this already. "You _are_ a New Yorker, right?"

"Oh, sure." I didn't feel right telling her that until she said that, I thought there were only a hundred and two floors in the Empire State Building. Mostly because I didn't want to end up looking stupid.

"Right after we visited," Annabeth continued, "the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by summer solstice, there's going to be trouble. When you came, I was hoping… I mean—Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course she's got the rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something."

I shook my head. I wish I could help her, but I have no better idea what was going on than she did. It didn't help that I was hungry and tired. If it wasn't for the two times I shapeshift, I probably be overwhelmed too.

"I've got to get a quest," Annabeth muttered to herself. "I'm _not_ too young. If they would just tell me the problem…"

Then I smell barbecue smoke coming somewhere nearby causing my stomach to growl. Annabeth must of heard it, because she told me to go on, she'd catch me later. I left her on the pier, tracing her finger across the rail as if drawing a battle plan.

…

Back at cabin eleven, everybody was talking and horsing around, waiting for dinner. For the first time, I noticed that a lot of the campers had similar features: sharp noses, upturned eyebrows, mischievous smiles. They were the kind of kids that teachers would peg as troublemakers. With that in mind, I could guess who were undetermined like me.

I walked over to my spot on the floor and plopped down with my minotaur horn.

The counselor, Luke, came over and I noticed he had the Hermes family resemblance, too. It was marred by that scar on his right cheek, but his smile was intact.

"Found you a sleeping bag," he said. "And here, I stole you some toiletries from the camp store."

"Thanks," I said, not wanting to know if he was kidding about stealing.

"No prob." Luke said next to me, pushed his back against the wall. "Tough first day?"

"It be harder if I hadn't turned into a Bull the other night," I responded. "At least I finally have an explanation to how I could turn into animals."

"Consider yourself lucky then," Luke said. "Most have it harder without even realizing what they're capable of doing. And even after that, it doesn't get any easier."

The bitterness in his voice surprised me, because Luke seemed like a pretty easygoing guy. He looked like he could handle just about anything.

"So your dad is Hermes?" I asked.

He pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket, and scraped mud off the sole of his sandal. "Yeah. Hermes. God of Messengers, Medicine, Travelers, merchants, thieves—basically anybody who uses the roads. That's why you're here, enjoying cabin eleven's hospitality. Hermes isn't picky about who he sponsors."

"Have you ever met your dad?" I asked, only to remember Annabeth saying Luke was among the campers that got to see Olympus, so maybe he seen his dad during them.

Except, Luke answered, "Once."

I waited, thinking that if he wanted to tell me, he'd tell me. Apparently, he didn't. I wondered if the story had anything to do with how he got his scar.

Luke looked up and managed a smile. "Don't worry about it, Percy. The campers here, they're mostly good people. After all, we're extended family, right? We take care of each other."

That made me feel better. Most people steered clear of an uncool middle-schooler like me. But Luke had welcomed me into the cabin. He'd even stolen me some toiletries, which was the nicest thing anybody had done for me all day.

I decided to ask him my last big question, the one that been bothering me all afternoon. "Clarisse, from Ares, jokingly mention my shapeshifting powers has something to do with the 'Big Three'. Then Annabeth… twice, she said I might be 'the one.' She said I should talk to the Oracle. What was that all about?"

Luke folded his knife. "I hate prophecies."

"What do you mean?"

His face twitched around the scar. "Let's just say I messed things up for everybody else. The last two years, ever since my trip to the Garden of Hesperides went sour, Chiron hasn't allowed any more quests. Annabeth's been dying to get out into the world. She pestered Chiron so much he finally told her he already knew her fate. He'd had a prophecy from the Oracle. He wouldn't tell her the whole thing, but he said Annabeth wasn't destined to go on a quest yet. She had to wait until… somebody special came to camp."

"Somebody special… like a half-blood with a rare blessing?" I asked.

"Maybe, but it might not be you," Luke said. "Don't get me wrong, you could be onto something, but practically every cabin has a camper or two with a rare blessing. Even here at cabin eleven. And those that don't—well, let's just say those cabins are the ones that normally sees those blessings as curses. Besides that, Annabeth just wants to think every camper who comes through here is the omen she's been waiting for. Now, come on, it's dinnertime."

The moment he said it, a horn of a conch shell blew in the distance. I don't know how I knew it, as I'd never heard one before.

Luke yelled, "Eleven, fall in!"

The whole cabin, about twenty of us, filed into the common yard. We lined up in order of seniority, so of course I was dead last. Campers came from the other cabins, too, except for the three cabins at the end, and the silver cabin, which was now starting to glow as the sun went down.

We marched up the hill to the mess hall pavilion. Satyrs joined us from the meadow. Naiads emerged from the canoeing lake. A few other girls came out of the woods—and I mean straight out of the woods. I saw one girl, about nine or ten years old, melt from the side of a maple tree and come skipping up the hill.

In all, there were maybe a hundred half-blood campers, a few dozen satyrs, and a dozen assorted wood nymphs and naiads.

At the pavilion, torches blazed around the marble columns. A central fire burned in a bronze brazier the size of a bathtub. Each cabin had its own table, covered in white cloth trimmed in purple. Four of the tables were empty, but cabin eleven's was way overcrowded. I had to squeeze on the edge of the bench with half my butt hanging off.

I saw Grover sitting at table twelve with Mr. D, a few satyrs, and the blonde plump kids I saw from before. Now that I see them with Mr. D, I can tell they're his sons. Chiron stood to one side, the picnic table being way too small for a centaur.

Annabeth sat at table six with a bunch of serious-looking athletic kids, all with her gray eyes and honey-blond hair.

Clarisse sat behind me at Ares table. She'd apparently gotten over being hosed down, because she was laughing and belching right alongside her friends.

At another table was full of kids with golden blonde hair.

Another only had four campers, but they were as big and burly as Ares, but they also looked like they just came from the forges.

Then there was the table with the other kids I saw at the strawberry fields, my guess they're Demeter's kids since they're not with Mr. D.

Finally, there was the last occupied table full of the most girly-girl campers, even the boys, who each can be classified as either beautiful or handsome.

Finally, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble floor of the pavilion, and everybody fell silent. He raised a glass. "To the gods!"

Everybody else raised their glasses. "To the gods!"

Wood nymphs came forward with platters of food: grapes, apples, strawberries, cheese, fresh bread, and barbecue. My glass was empty, but Luke said, "Speak to it. Whatever you want—nonalcoholic, 0f course."

I said, "Cherry Coke."

The glass filled with sparkling caramel liquid.

Then, just for the heck of it, I said. " _Blue_ Cherry Coke."

The soda turned a violent shade of cobalt.

I took a cautious sip and it was perfect, and I toast to my mother.

She's not gone, I told myself. Not permanently, anyway. She's in the Underworld. And if that's a real place, then someday…

"Here you go, Percy," Luke said, handing me a platter of smoked brisket.

I loaded my plate and was about to take a big bite when I noticed everybody getting up, carrying their plates toward the fire in the center of the pavilion. I wonder if they were going for dessert or something.

"Come on," Luke told me.

As I got closer, I saw that everyone was taking a portion of their meal and dropping it into the fire, the ripest strawberry, the juiciest slice of beef, the warmest, most buttery roll.

Luke murmured in my ear, "Burnt offerings for the gods. They like the smell."

Of all the things I heard today, this was the most unbelievable for me to process. "You're kidding."

His look warned me not to take this lightly, but I couldn't help wondering why an immortal, all-powerful being would like the smell of burning food.

Luke approached the fire, bowed his head, and tossed in a cluster of fat red grapes. "Hermes."

I was next, but I had no idea who to offer too. I still don't know who my dad is.

Finally, I decided on a silent plea. _Whoever_ _you are, send me a sign or something. Please._

I scraped a big slice of brisket into the flames and the smoke from it was not what I expected. It was the smell of hot chocolate and fresh-baked brownies, hamburgers on the grill and wildflowers, and a hundred other good things that shouldn't have gone well together, but did. Now I can believe the gods could live off that smoke.

When everybody had returned to their seats and finished eating their meals, Chiron pounded his hoof again for our attention.

Mr. d got up with a huge sigh. "Yes, I supposed I'd better say hello. Well, hello. Our activities director, Chiron says the next capture the flag is Friday. Cabin Five presently holds the laurels.

A bunch of ugly cheering rose from the Ares table.

"Personally," Mr. D continued, "I couldn't care less, but congratulations. Also, I should tell you that we have a new camper today. Peter Jay Johnson."

Chiron murmured something.

"Er, Perseus James Jackson, going by the name Percy for short," Mr. D corrected. "That's right. Hurrah, and all that. Now run along to your silly campfire. Go on."

Everybody cheered. We all headed down toward the amphitheater, where the bunch of golden blonde kids I learned were children of Apollo led a sing-along. We sang camp songs about the gods and ate s'mores and joked around, and the funny thing was, I didn't feel that anyone was staring at me anymore. I felt that I was home.

Later in the evening, when the sparks from the campfire were curling into a starry sky, the conch horn blew again, and we all filed back to our cabins. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I collapsed on my borrowed sleeping bag.

My fingers curled around the minotaur's horn. I thought about my mom, but I had good thoughts: her smile, her calling me her little cub, the bedtime stories she would read me when I was a kid, the way she would tell me not to let the bedbugs bite.

When I closed my eyes, I fell asleep instantly, enjoying my first night at Camp Half-Blood.

If only I knew what really was ahead of me, and what my powers really meant for what is about to come.


	8. I Finally Find Out Who My Dad is…

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **I Finally Find Out Who My Dad is… And it Doesn't Look Good**

The next few days I settled into a routine that felt almost normal, if you don't count the fact that I was getting lessons from satyrs, nymphs, and a centaur.

Each morning I took Ancient Greek from Annabeth, and we talked about the gods and goddesses in the present tense, which was kind of weird. I discovered Annabeth was right about my dyslexia: Ancient Greek wasn't that hard for me to read. At least, no harder than English. After a couple of mornings, I could stumble through a few lines of Homer without too much headache. After that, with an exception of Cabin inspections, where a counselor inspects each cabin, as well as breakfast, lunch, and dinner my schedule varied from day to day, most was to figure out who my dad was.

First day I was assigned to lunch preparation with Hermes cabin before archery with Chiron. Chiron tried to teach me it, but we found out pretty quick I wasn't any good with a bow and arrow. He didn't complain, even when he had to desnag a stray arrow out of his tail.

After lunch we had weapon making with the head counsellor of Hephaestus cabin: Charles Beckendorf. He was a huge African American dude with a permanent scowl, muscles like a baseball player, and hands like catcher's mitts which were calloused. He doesn't let anyone call him Charles, or Charlie, or Chuck, so we just call him Beckendorf.

Unfortunately, I was no son of Hephaestus as I wasn't gifted in metal work, no matter how hard Beckendorf tried.

After that we had a foot race with dryads, and I wasn't good in that either. The wood-nymph instructors left me in the dust. They told me not to worry about it. They'd had centuries of practice running away from lovesick gods. But still, it was a little humiliating to be slower than a tree.

Tuesday wasn't much productive either. After store checks, we had Javelin throwing class, and although I was better at it than a bow and arrow, I got the feeling it wasn't helping me being claimed.

We did have canoe races, which I succeed with, but again, it wasn't something you expect from a kid that took down the Minotaur.

We finished the day off with unarm combat, which I struggled with.

Wednesday was the worse, when I had both wrestling and Monster fighting class with Clarisse. Both classes she got her revenge for the bathroom incident by humiliating me. One good thing out of it is that there was no way Ares was my dad, which meant Clarisse wasn't my half-sibling.

All through my activities, I knew the senior campers and counsellors were watching me, trying to decide who my dad was, but they obviously weren't having any luck. Heck, I doubt I was one of Mr. D's kids, as I noticed Mr. D seem to show more interest in his two sons than any other camper.

It didn't help that I didn't shapeshift once since arriving at camp. Not even in wrestling and Monster Fighting. It wasn't from lack of trying, it just didn't come easy. Luke suggested that maybe it's triggered by real life or death situation like fighting an actual monster, unlike the practice fights with other campers in Monster Fighting Class, but I can tell he was starting to be skeptical about my powers.

Despite all that, I liked camp. I got used to the morning fog over the beach, the smell of hot strawberry fields in the afternoon, even the weird noises of monsters in the woods at night. I would eat dinner with cabin eleven, scrape part of my meal into the fire, and try to feel some connection to my real dad. Nothing came. Just that warmth feeling I'd always had, like the memory of his smile. I tried not to think too much about my mom, but I kept wondering: if gods and monsters were real, if all this magical stuff was possible, surely there was some way to save her, to bring her back…

I started to understand Luke's bitterness and how he seemed to resent his father, Hermes. So okay, maybe gods had important things to do. But couldn't they do something to acknowledge us. Especially those undetermined such as myself.

Thursday came, three days after I'd arrived at Camp Half-Blood, and I had my first sword-fighting lesson. Everybody from cabin eleven gathered in the big circular arena, where Luke would be our instructor.

We started with basic stabbing and slashing, using some straw-stuffed dummies in Greek armor. I wasn't sure if I did good or not, but it seem to come easier than using a javelin. But I couldn't find a blade that felt right in my hands. Either they were too heavy, or too light, or too long. Luke tried his best to fix me up, but he agreed that none of the practice blades seemed to work for me. But he assure me at the start of the lesson that it doesn't mean I'm bad with a sword, but that I just need to find the right sword.

We moved on to dueling in pairs. Luke announced he would be my partner, since this was my first time.

"Good luck," one of the campers told me. "Luke's the best swordsman in the last three hundred years."

"Maybe he'll go easy one me," I said.

The camper snorted.

Luke showed me thrusts and parries and shield blocks the hard way. With every swipe, I got a little more battered and bruised. "Keep your guard up, Percy," he'd say, then whap me in the ribs with the flat of his blade. "No, not that far up!" _Whap!_ "Lunge!" _Whap!_ "Now, back!" _Whap!_

By the time he called a break, I was soaked in sweat. Everybody swarmed the drinks cooler. Luke poured ice water on his head, which looked like such a good idea, I did the same.

Instantly, I felt better. Strength surged back into my arms. The sword didn't feel so awkward.

"Okay, everybody circle up!" Luke ordered. "If Percy doesn't mind, I want to give you a little demo."

Great, I thought, Let's all watch Percy get pounded.

The Hermes guys gathered around. They were suppressing smiles. I figured they'd been in my shoes before and couldn't wait to see how Luke used me for a punching bag. He told everybody he was going to demonstrate a disarming technique; how to twist the enemy's blade with the flat of your own sword so that he had no choice but to drop his weapon.

"This is difficult," he stressed. "I've had it used against me. No laughing at Percy, now. Most swordsmen have to work years to master this technique."

He demonstrated the move on me in slow motion. Sure enough, the sword clattered out of my hand.

"Now in real time," he said, after I'd retrieved my weapon. "We keep sparring until one of us pulls it off. Ready, Percy?"

I nodded, and Luke came after me. Somehow, I kept him from getting a shot at the hilt of my sword. My senses opened up. I saw his attacks coming. I countered. I stepped forward and tried a thrust of my own. Luke deflected it easily, but I saw a change in his face. His eyes narrowed, and he started to press me with more force.

The sword grew heavy in my hand. The balance wasn't right. I knew it was only a matter of seconds before Luke took me down, so I figured, What the heck?

I tried the disarming maneuver.

My blade hit the base of Luke's and I twisted, putting my whole weight into a downward thrust.

Clang.

Luke's sword rattled against the stones. The tip of my blade was an inch from his undefended chest.

The other campers were silent.

I lowered my sword. "Um, sorry."

For a moment, Luke was too stunned to speak.

"Sorry?" His scarred face broke into a grin. "By the gods, Percy, why are you sorry? Show me that again!"

I didn't want to. The short burst of manic energy had completely abandoned me. But Luke insisted.

This time, there was no contest. The moment our swords connected, Luke hit my hilt and sent my weapon skidding across the floor.

After a long pause, somebody in the audience said, "Beginner's luck?"

Luke wiped the sweat off his brow. He appraised at me with entirely new interest. "Maybe," he said. "But I wonder just how good Percy can be with a balance sword…"

…

Friday afternoon, I was sitting with Grover at the lake, resting from a near-death experience on the climbing wall. Grover had scampered to the top like a mountain goat, but the lava had almost gotten me. My shirt had smoking holes in it. The hairs had been singed off my forearms.

We sat on the pier, watching the naiads do underwater basket-weaving, until I got the nerve to ask Grover how his conversation with Mr. D went.

His face turned a sickly shade of yellow.

"Fine," he said. "Just great."

"So your career's still on track?"

He glanced at me nervously. "Chiron t-told you I want a searcher's license?"

"Well… no." I had no idea what a searcher's license was, but it didn't seem like the right time to ask. "He just said you had big plans, you know… and that you needed credit for completing a keeper's assignment. So did you get it?"

Grover looked down at the naiads. "Mr. D suspended judgment. He said I hadn't failed or succeeded with you yet, so our fates were still tied together. If you got a quest and I went along to protect you, and we both came back alive, then maybe he'd consider the job complete."

Completely forgetting what Luke told me about there haven't been a quest issued since he came back from his, my spirits lifted. "Well, that's not so bad, right?"

" _Blaa-ha-ha!_ He might as well have transferred me to stable-cleaning duty. The chances of you getting a quest…" He paused but I got the idea as I now remember what Luke said as Grover continued, "and even if you did, why would you want _me_ along?"

"Of course I'd want you along!"

Grover stared glumly into the water. "Basket-weaving… Must be nice to have a useful skill."

I tried to reassure him that he had lots of talents, but that just made him look more miserable. We talked about canoeing and swordplay for a while, then debated the pros and cons of the different gods. Finally, I asked him about the four empty cabins.

"Number eight, the silver one, belongs to Artemis," Grover said. "She vowed to be maiden forever. So of course no kids. But she does have maiden hunter-followers…"

"She actually have maiden followers?" I asked, remembering that from Latin class.

Grover nodded, "All girls who sworn off love…" Although he said it as if some part of him wish they didn't. "They come to visit once in a while and if they stay over night, they stay at Cabin Eight. Other than the hunter's visits, the cabin is honorary."

I nodded, as partly it made sense to me, but mostly if what I learn in Latin class about the hunters were true, I didn't want to share cabin with them unless I want to die.

"So… what about the ones at the end. I figured one is for Hera, but shouldn't there be a fifth empty cabin all Big Three?" I asked. "Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, right?

Grover intense. "We don't have a cabin for Hades. He doesn't have a throne on Olympus, either. He sort of does his own thing down in the Underworld. If he did have a cabin here…" Grover shuddered. "Well, it wouldn't be pleasant. Let's leave it at that."

"But Zeus and Poseidon—they both had, like, a bazillion kids in the myths. Why are their cabins empty?"

Grover shifted his hooves uncomfortably. "About sixty years ago, after World War II, the Big Three agreed they wouldn't sire any more heroes. Their children were just too powerful. They were affecting the course of human events too much, causing too much carnage. World War II, you know, that was basically a fight between the sons of Zeus and Poseidon on one side, and sons of Hades on the other."

"Seriously? Let me guess, FDR was the son of Poseidon, while Churchill was the son of Zeus, and Hitler was the son of Hades?" I asked.

Grover shuffled and said, "Actually, FDR was the son of Zeus, and Churchill was the son of Poseidon."

My jaw dropped. I knew from Annabeth that there were some famous demigod names, but it never occurred to me there were _leaders_ _of the world_ -famous demigods.

"Even Stalin?" I can't help but asked.

Grover shrugged. "Demigod, but not child of the Big Three the last I check. Either way, the winning side, Zeus and Poseidon, made Hades swear an oath with them: no more affairs with mortal women. They all swore on the River Styx."

Thunder boomed.

I said, "That's the most serious oath you can make."

Grover nodded.

"Their wives must of been happy with the oaths," I said, "Since their husbands can't have kids out of wedlock." Of course the stories of Hera tormenting Zeus' kids that weren't hers came to my mind.

"Well, they can still have kids with nymphs and other goddesses, but they can't have half-blood children," Grover said. "Story goes, it was so they won't be tempted to go after mortals."

"Oh…" I responded. "So… the brothers kept their word—no more half-blood kids?"

Grover's face darkened. "Seventeen years ago, Zeus fell off the wagon. There was this TV starlet with a big fluffy eighties hairdo—he just couldn't help himself. When their child was born, a little girl named Thalia… well, the River Styx is serious about promises. Zeus himself got off easy because he's immortal, but he brought a terrible fate on his daughter."

"But that isn't fair! It wasn't the little girl's fault."

Grover hesitated. "Percy, children of the Big Three have powers greater than other half-bloods. They have a strong aura, a scent that attract monsters. When Hades found out about the girl, he wasn't too happy about Zeus breaking his oath. Hades let the worst monsters out of Tartarus to torment Thalia. A satyr was assigned to be her keeper when she was twelve, but there was nothing he could do. He tried to escort her here with a couple of other half-bloods she'd befriended. They almost made it. They got all the way to the top of that hill."

He pointed across the valley, to the pine tree where I'd fought the minotaur. "All three Kindly Ones were after them, along with a hoard of hellhounds. They were about to be overrun when Thalia told her satyr to take the other two half-bloods to safety while she held off the monsters. She was wounded and tired, and she didn't want to live like a hunted animal. The satyr didn't want to leave her, but he couldn't change her mind, and he had to protect the others. So Thalia made her final stand alone, at the top of that hill. As she died, Zeus took pity on her. He turned her into that pine tree. Her spirit still helps protect the borders of the valley. That's why the hill is called Half-Blood Hill."

I stared at the pine tree in the distance.

The story made me feel hollow, and guilty too. A girl my age had sacrificed herself to save her friends. She had faced a whole army of monsters. Next to that, my victory over the Minotaur by turning into a bull didn't seem like much. I wondered, if I'd acted differently, cold I have saved my mother?

"Grover," I said, "have heroes really gone on quests to the Underworld?"

"Sometimes," he said. "Orpheus. Hercules. Houdini—he was the son of Hermes with a rare gift over locks. That's why he always did escape tricks."

"Sure, why not." I responded. "So have they ever returned somebody from the dead?"

"No. Never. Orpheus came lose… Percy, you're not seriously thinking—"

"No," I lied. "I was just wondering. So… a satyr is always assigned to guard demigod?"

Grover studied me warily. I hadn't persuaded him that I'd really dropped the Underworld idea. "Not always. We go undercover to a lot of schools. We try to sniff out the half-bloods who have the makings of great heroes. If we find one with a very strong aura, like a child of the Big Three, we alert Chiron. He tries to keep an eye on them, since they could cause really huge problems."

"And you found me. Chiron said you thought I might be something special, that it might got something to do with my shapeshifting powers.

Grover looked as if I'd just led him into a trap. "I didn't… Oh, listen, don't think like that. If you _were_ —you know—you'd never _ever_ be allowed a quest, and I'd never get my license. Maybe we over looked something about your powers. Maybe it is related to one of the Minor gods, like Hecate, we find more half-blood kids of Hecate more often than most Minor gods, and sometimes they have powers involving shapeshifting."

I got the feeling Grover was reassuring himself more than me. Besides, I doubt it's Hecate since she's a goddess, and we're trying to figure out who my _dad_ is. And even if Hecate could change to a male, something tells me she wouldn't be able to fool my mom.

…

That night after dinner, there was a lot more excitement than usual.

At last, it was time for capture the flag.

When the plates were cleared away, the conch horn sounded and we all stood at our tables.

Campers yelled and cheered as Annabeth and two of her siblings ran into the pavilion carrying a silk banner. It was about ten feet long glistening gray, with a painting of a barn owl above an olive tree. From the opposite side of the pavilion, Clarisse and her buddies ran in with another banner, of identical size, but gaudy red, painted with a bloody spear and a boar's head.

I turned to Luke and yelled over the noise, "Those are the flags?"

"Yeah."

"Ares and Athena always lead the teams?"

"Not always," he said. "But often."

"So, if another cabin captures one, what do you do—repaint the flag."

He grinned. "You'll see. First we have to get one."

"Whose side are we on?"

He gave me a sly look, as if he knew something I didn't. The scar on his face made him look almost evil in the torchlight. "We've made a temporary alliance with Athena. Tonight, we get the flag from Ares. And _you_ are going to help."

The teams were announced. Athena had made an alliance with only two other cabins: Apollo and Hermes, fortunately those two were the biggest cabins due to Hermes welcoming unclaimed kids and Apollo being one of the gods that claim all their kids, and Apollo has more kids than Demeter and Athena cabin. Apparently, privileges had been traded-shower times, chore schedules, the best slots for activities—in order to win support. I also got the feeling Annabeth wanted Hermes on her team more because of Luke than what I did to the bathrooms my first day at camp.

Ares had allied themselves with everybody else: Dionysus, Demeter, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus. From what I seen, Dionysus kids were actually good athletes, but there were two of them as the nature spirits didn't seem to take part in anything involving weapons that they don't grow themselves. Demeter's kids had more of the edge with nature skills and outdoor stuff than Dionysus with an exception of vined fruits like strawberries, but Demeter's kids weren't very aggressive. Majority of Aphrodite's sons and daughter normally sat out every activity and checked their reflections in the mirror, and there are only few that actually take part in something. Hephaestus' kids were the four burly bunch, and from what I heard, unlike Ares Cabin, they actually have both brains and bronze. Then there's of course Ares Cabin: a dozen of the biggest, ugliest, meanest kids on Long Island and possibly the whole world.

I've been told most of the mortal women Ares falls for were female soldiers, and because of it they got a better idea of what war was like and some even trained to fire guns before monsters even started noticing them. I don't know if the gun thing is true (mostly because I heard it from one of Luke's siblings), but from what I already experience, I can believe in the rest. I also heard and came to believe that Ares Cabin doesn't ranks seniority based on age or how long they been in camp as all the other cabins do, but by strength and skills as a warrior. And after the humiliation of wrestling and Monster Fighting class, I can see how Clarisse is Counsellor of Ares Cabin.

Chiron hammered his hoof on the marble.

"Heroes!" he announced. "You know the rules. The creek is the boundary line. The entire forest is fair game. All magical items are allowed. The banner must be prominently displayed and have no more than two guards. Prisoners may be disarmed but may not be bound or gagged. No killing or maiming is allowed. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. Arm yourselves!"

He spread his hands, and the tables were suddenly covered with equipment: helmets, bronze swords, spears, oxhide shields coated in metal.

"Whoa," I said. "We're really supposed to use these?"

Luke looked at me as if I were crazy. "Unless you want to get skewered by your friends in cabin five. Here—Chiron thought these would fit. You'll be on border patrol."

My shield was the size of an NBA backboard, with a big caduceus in the middle. It weighed about a million pounds. I could have snowboarded on it fine, but I hoped nobody seriously expected me to run fast. My helmet, like all the helmets on Athena's side, had a blue horsehair plume on top. Ares and their allies had red plumes.

Annabeth yelled, "Blue team, forward!"

We cheered and shook our swords. Or at least those from Athena cabin and majority of Hermes shook their swords. Apollo kids and some unclaimed were equipped with bows and quiver full of arrows with no swords or shields so they raised their bows. I noticed not all campers on the red team have swords. In fact, Ares Cabin seem to be favoring all sorts of deadly weapons.

Blue team followed Annabeth down the path to the south woods. The red team yelled taunts at us as they headed toward the north.

I managed to catch up with Annabeth without tripping over my equipment. "Hey."

She kept marching.

"So what's the plan?" I asked. "Got any magic items you can loan me?"

Her hand drifted toward her pocket, as if she were afraid I'd stolen something.

"Just watch Clarisse's spear," she said. "You don't want that thing touching you. Otherwise, don't worry. We'll take the banner from Ares. Has Luke given you your job?"

"Border patrol, whatever that means."

"It's easy. Stand by the creek, keep the reds away. Normally when Athena and Hermes team up, we have undetermined campers normally assigned defense positions unless they're good archers," Annabeth explained. "Good way to get recognition if the enemy try to pass the creek by showing how well you can hold your own since the defending team likely face action stopping the other team from getting the flag."

"The Olympians watch their kids play Capture the Flag?" I asked.

"There been history of half-bloods being claimed after a game, but not always," Annabeth nodded.

I nodded my head as I got the message: Play well and hope my dad is watching.

"Just leave the rest to me. Athena always has a plan.'

She pushed ahead, leaving me in the dust, but at least not completely clueless.

It was a warm, sticky night. The woods were dark, with fireflies popping in and out of the view. Annabeth stationed me next to a little creek that gurgled over some rocks, then she and the rest of the team scattered into the trees.

Standing there alone, with my big blue-feathered helmet and my huge shield, I felt like an idiot. The bronze sword, like all the other swords I'd tried so far, seemed balanced wrong. The leather grip pulled on my hand like a bowling ball.

I'm not too worried about being attack, even with sword issues, Luke assure me I'm pretty good with a sword for a newcomer. It's just the thought of who might attack me that has me on edge.

Far away, the conch horn blew. I heard whoops and yells in the woods, the clanking of metal, kids fighting. A blue plumed ally from Apollo raced past me like a deer, leaped through the creek, and disappeared into enemy territory.

So much for getting to have some action in defense. It sounds like most of the fun is going on with the offensive team.

Oh well, at least I can try and shapeshift while waiting. There were no rules against it, and if I succeed, I can catch anyone trying to get through by surprise. No maiming was allowed so I guess anything with claws like a bear would do me any good.

As I was trying to decide what to turn into, I heard a sound that sent a chill up my spine, a low canine growl, somewhere close by.

I raised my shield instinctively; I had the feeling something was stalking me.

Then the growling stopped as I felt the presence retreating.

On the other side of the creek, the underbush exploded. Five Ares warriors came yelling and screaming out of the dark.

"Cream the punk!" Clarisse screamed.

Great. The camper I didn't want to fight had to show up

Clarisse's ugly pig eyes glared through the slits of her helmet. She brandished a five-foot-long spear, its barbed metal tip flickering with red light. Her siblings with her had only the standard-issue bronze swords—not that made me feel any better.

They charged across the stream. There was no help in sight. Things weren't in my favor.

I managed to sidestep the first kid's swing, but these guys were not as stupid as the Minotaur. They surrounded me, and Clarisse thrust at me with her spear. My shield deflected the point, but I felt a painful tingling all over my body. My hair stood on end. My shield arm went numb, and the air burned as I fell back.

Electricity. Her stupid spear was electric.

Another Ares guy slammed me in the chest with the butt of his sword and I hit the dirt.

They could've kicked me into jelly, but they were too busy laughing.

"Where's your shapeshifting powers now, looser?" Clarisse taunted.

I managed to get to my feet. I raised my sword, but Clarisse slammed it aside with her spear as sparks flew. Now both my arms felt numb.

"Oh, wow," Clarisse said. "I'm scared of this guy. Really scared. Now we're going to get revenge on the guy who made our cabin look stupid."

"Like you guys needed help in doing that," I said, realizing that might of not been smart.

Two of them came at me. Remembering that the water helped me before, I tried to back to the creek as I raised my shield, but Clarisse was too fast. Her spear stuck me straight in the ribs. If I hadn't been wearing an armored breastplate, I would've been shish-ke-babbed, but that didn't stop the electric point as it shock my teeth out of my mouth.

One of her cabinmates slashed his sword across my arm, leaving good size gash, before kicking me into the creek butt first. They all laughed, not realizing they did what I was trying to do. But what happened wasn't what I expected.

Like in the sword arena, the water waked my senses and awaken the animal in me.

Clarisse and her cabinmates came into the creek to get me, but they were too late, as I felt my body grow heavier and fur sprout all over my body and claws grew out of my hands and feet as I turned into a bear.

I didn't have my sword in my hands, but I didn't need it anymore. I swung my clawed paw into the first guy's helmet, knocking it clean off and with enough force to knock him into the water.

Ugly Number two and three came at me, but I dropped to all four and one into the other into the ground and knocked them out cold. I gave a defiant bear like roar.

"He can shape shift," the fourth guy said. "He can—"

He didn't get much time to finish as I whack him out with my paw and body slammed him into the ground, making sure I didn't maim him as I did with his buddies.

Clarisse was the last Ares kid standing, and she came at me, with the point of her spear cackling with energy. I stood up and swipe at the spear as it came at me. I still got shock but the point end broke off with the force and flew off.

"Ah!" she screamed. "You idiot! You're so dead!"

I didn't care as I body slammed her into the ground and roared in victory.

Then I heard yelling, elated screams, and I saw Luke racing toward the boundary line with the red team's banner lifted high. He was flanked by a couple of Hermes guys covering his retreat, and a few Apollos behind them, fighting off Hephaestus kids.

I somehow shapeshifted back to human, still wearing my armor-minus the sword and shield.

Ares kids got up, and Clarisse muttered in daze before shouting, "A trick! It was a trick."

They staggered after Luke, but it was too late. Everybody converged on the creek as Luke ran across into friendly territory. Our side exploded with cheers. The red banner shimmered and turned to silver. The boar and spear were replaced with a huge caduceus, the symbol of cabin eleven. Everybody on the blue team picked up Luke and started carrying him around on their shoulders. Chiron cantered out from the woods and blew the conch horn signaling the game over as blue team won.

I was certain no one but Clarisse and her four siblings saw me shape shift, until Annabeth's voice, right next to me in the creek, said, "You make an effective bear, hero."

i looked, but she wasn't there..

"How the heck did you know how to fight like a bear?" she asked. The air shimmered, and she materialized, holding a Yankees baseball cap as if she'd just taken it off her head.

"Animal Planet, only educational channel I was interested in growing up. I guess I know why now," I replied, referring to the fact I could turn into animals, before realizing something. "Hey, wait a second. You set me up. You put me here because you knew Clarisse would come after me, while you sent Luke around the flank. You had it all figured out."

Annabeth shrugged. "I told you. Athena always, always has a plan. But I came as fast I could. I was about to jump in when you turned into a bear." Then she saw something on my arm. "What happened to your arm?"

Forgetting about the sword wound I got before turning into a bear, I looked down, expecting it to be covered in blood along with a bad gash by now. Instead, it was now a white scratch, and even that was fading into a small scar before disappearing.

"It was a sword wound, but—" I stopped as I don't know how to answer.

Annabeth was thinking hard as she looked down at my feet, then at what remains of Clarisse's spear that she dropped, and said, "Step out of the water, Percy."

"What—"

"Just do it."

I came out of the creek and immediately felt bone tired again as my arms and body started going numb again. The adrenaline rush that came with my transformation left me. I almost fell over, but Annabeth steadied me.

"This is _not_ good. I didn't want… I assumed it would be Zeus… and your mom was a half-blood child of Hecate or something and that's how you got your shapeshifting powers and how she might of knew who your dad was, but…"

Before I could ask what she meant, I heard that canine growl again, but much closer than before. A howl ripped through the forest.

The campers' cheering died instantly. Chiron shouted something in Ancient Greek, which I would realize, only later, I had understood perfectly: _"Stand_ _ready! My bow!"_

Annabeth drew her sword.

On the rocks above us was a black hound the size of a rhino, with fangs like daggers, and lava-red eyes looking straight at me.

"Percy, run!" Annabeth yelled as she tried to step in front of me, but the hound was too fast. It leaped over her like an enormous shadow with teeth and hit me. I stumbled backward and felt its razor-sharp claws ripping through my armor.

I tried to concentrate on turning into a bear again, but just like the adrenaline rush, it seem the power left me as well. Fortunately, there was a cascade of thwacking sounds, like forty pieces of paper being ripped one after the other. From the hound's neck, sprouted a cluster of arrows. The monster fell dead at my feet.

My armor was in shambles, and my chest felt warm and wet indicating I was cut badly, but by some miracle, I was still alive.

Chiron trotted up next to us, a bow in his hand, his face grim.

 _"Di immortales!"_ Annabeth said. "That's a hellhound from the Fields of Punishment. They don't… they're not supposed to…"

"Someone summoned it," Chiron said. "Someone inside the camp."

Luke came over, the banner in his hand forgotten, his moment of glory gone.

Clarisse yelled, "It's all Percy's fault! Percy summoned it!"

"It attacked me!" I responded. "Why the heck would I summon something to attack myself?"

"Be quiet," Chiron told us.

We watched the body of the hellhound melt into shadow, soaking into the ground until it disappeared.

"Percy, you're wounded. Get into the water." Annabeth said. "Chiron watch this."

I wanted to argue, but going into the creek seem like a good idea considering how tired I was and how water seem to help me.

I stepped back into the creek as the whole camp gathered around me.

Instantly, I felt better. I could feel the cuts on my chest closing up. Some of campers gasped.

"I've just learned about water healing me, not really a big deal," I tried to lie to make it no big deal.

But they weren't watching my wounds heal. They were staring at something above my head.

"Percy," Annabeth said, pointing. "Um…"

By time I looked up, the sign was already fading, but I could still make out the hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident.

"Your father," Annabeth murmured. "This is _really_ not good."

"It is determined," Chiron announced.

All around me, campers started kneeling, even Ares cabin, though they didn't look happy about it. I later found out it was tradition to kneel to a camper that been claimed, but not really enforced.

"My father?" I asked, completely bewildered.

"Poseidon," said Chiron. "Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses, Hail Perseus James Jackson, Son of the Sea God."

* * *

 **A/N:** I thought it be easier for Percy to go animal on Ares cabin than on an unexpected Hellhound fight considering Percy felt tired after stepping out of the creek. Also I thought the whole kneeling thing was more of a non-enforced traditional matter when in the Lost Hero (Spoil Alert) no one kneeled when Leo was claimed, and yet most of the camp minus Drew and her friends did when Piper was. Also I got the idea of how campers (for both Greek and Roman camps) were claimed during one of the camp's games like capture the flag from the fact Mars claimed Frank after his actions during the war games.


	9. I am Offered a Quest

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **I am Offered a Quest**

The next morning, Chiron moved me to cabin three.

I didn't have to share with anybody. I had plenty of room for all my stuff: the minotaur's horn, one new set of spare clothes (since one was burned by lava and the other was torn apart by the hellhound), and a toiletry bag. I got to sit at my own dinner table, pick my own activities, call "lights out" whenever I felt like it, and not listen to anybody else.

And I was miserable.

Just when I'd started to feel accepted, to feel I had a home in cabin eleven and I might be a normal half-blood kid—I'd been separated out as if I had some rare disease.

Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but I got the feeling they were all talking about it behind my back. The attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: one, I was the son of the Sea God; and two, monsters would stop at nothing to kill me. They could even invade a camp that had always been considered safe.

What's worse, everyone believes about my shapeshifting powers, and not in a good way. Everyone steered clear of me and look scared whenever I'm around as if they were worried I would turn into some dangerous beast if they do anything to anger me. Even cabin eleven was too nervous to have sword class with me, so my lessons with Luke became one-on-one. He pushed me harder than ever, and wasn't afraid to bruise me up in the process.

"You're going to need all the training you can get," he promised, as we were working with swords and flaming torches. "Now let's try that viper-beheading strike again. Fifty more repetitions."

Good thing out of it was that when he wasn't bruising me up, Luke told me all the things expected of me, as being the only camper of cabin three, I was now camp counsellor. Meaning, sometimes I get special jobs only assigned to counsellors as interesting as Cabin Inspections, which is the only time a camper is allowed in a cabin uninvited as long as it's occupied by campers (which means Zeus' Hera's and Artemis' cabins were out) and only for inspections, to as boring as helping Chiron go through paperwork. I also get to decide which team I can ally with for Capture the Flag as long as the cabin accepts my help, which one of them have too if I want to participate, which means I can avoid teaming up with Ares, and I can be team captain if Chiron choose Cabin Three to lead a team.

Besides Luke, I also still have Greek lessons with Annabeth every morning, which would be great, except ever since the night I was claimed, she seemed distracted and scowled at me every time I try to talk to her.

After lessons, she would walk away muttering to herself: "Quest… Poseidon?... Dirty rotten… Got to make a plan…"

I remember Annabeth mentioning that Athena had rivalry with Poseidon, but I didn't expect it to cost me any friendship with a child of Athena. Although Annabeth and I only hang out during Greek class before I was claimed, I thought since most of the times we were together we did get along was close enough to friendship.

Then there was Clarisse, who kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill me for breaking her magic spear. Still, I would rather hear her yelling at me or something than being ignored.

I knew somebody at camp resented me, because one night I came into my cabin and found a mortal newspaper dropped inside the doorway, a copy of the _New York Daily News_ , opened to the Metro page. The article took me almost an hour to read, because the angrier I got, the more the words floated around on the page.

 **Boy and Mother Still Missing After Freak Car Accident  
** By Eileen Smythe

Sally Jackson and son Percy are still missing one week after their mysterious disappearance. The family's badly burned '78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a north Long Island road with the roof ripped off and the front axle broken. The car had flipped and skidded for several hundred feet before exploding.  
Mother and son had gone for a weekend vacation to Montauk, but left hastily, under mysterious circumstances. Small traces of blood were found in the car and near the scene of the wreck, but there were no other signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents in the rural area reported seeing nothing unusual around the time of the accident.  
Ms. Jackson's husband, Gabe Ugliano, claims that his stepson, Percy Jackson, is a troubled child who has been kicked out of numerous schools and has expressed violent tendencies in the past.  
Police would not say whether son Percy is a suspect in his mother's disappearance, but they have not ruled out foul play. Below are recent pictures of Sally Jackson and Percy. Police urge anyone with information to call the following toll-free crime-stoppers hotline.

The phone number was circled in black marker.

I wadded up the paper and threw it away, then flopped down in my bunk bed in the middle of my empty cabin.

"Lights out," I told myself miserably. That night, I had my worst dream yet. I was running along the beach in a storm. This time, there was a city behind me. Not New York. The sprawl was different: buildings spread farther apart, palm trees and low hills in the distance.

About a hundred yards down the surf, two men were fighting. They looked like TV wrestlers, muscular, with beard and long hair. Both wore flowing Greek tunics, one trimmed in blue, the other green. They grappled with each other, wrestled, kicked and head-butted, and every time they connected, lightning flashed, the sky grew darker, and the wind rose.

I had to stop them. I didn't know why. But the harder I ran, the more the wind blew me back, until I was running in place, my heels digging uselessly in the sand.

Over the roar of the storm, I could hear the blue-robed one yelling at the green-robed one, _Give it back! Give it back!_ Like a kindergartner fighting over a toy.

The waves got bigger, crashing into the beach, spraying me with salt.

I yelled, _Stop_ _it! Stop fighting!_

The ground shook. Laughter came from somewhere under the earth, and a voice so deep and evil it turned my blood to ice.

 _Come down, little hero,_ the voice crooned. _Come down!_

The sand split beneath me, opening a crevice straight down to the center of the earth. My feet slipped, and darkness swallowed me.

…

I woke up, sure I was falling.

I was still in bed in cabin three. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn't dreamed that.

I heard a clopping sound at the door, a hoof knocking on the threshold.

"Come in?"

Grover trotted inside, looking worried. "Mr. D wants to see you."

"Why?"

"He wants to kill… I mean, I'd better let him tell you."

Nervously, I got dressed and followed, sure that I was in huge trouble.

For days, I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that I was declared a son of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figured it was a crime just to be alive. The other gods had probably been debating the best way to punish me for existing, and now Mr. D was ready to deliver their verdict.

Over Long Island Sound, the sky looked like ink soup coming to boil. A hazy curtain of rain was coming in our direction.

I actually learned during my time in Camp that it doesn't rain unless they want it too, and most weather go around the valley. But something about this huge storm felt different.

At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin were playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysus' twins were walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everybody was going about their normal business, but they looked tense. They kept their eyes on the storm.

Grover and I walked up to the front porch of the Big House, Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sat across the table in his fake wheelchair, They were playing against invisible opponents—two sets of cards hovering in the air.

"Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity. Come closer. And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father."

A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house.

"Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus said.

Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards. Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth.

"If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep campers safe from harm."

"Spontaneous combustion _is_ a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in.

"Nonsense," Dionysus said. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, there's one more option, but it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rose, and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I will spontaneous combust him. Understand this, Perseus Jackson, spontaneous combustion would be a quicker painless death than what Chiron feels you must do."

Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle security pass.

He snapped his fingers.

The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind.

Chiron smiled at me, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit Percy, please. And Grover.

We sat down as Chiron laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use.

"Tell me, Percy," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?"

Just hearing the name made me shudder.

"It scared me," I said. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead."

"You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done."

"Done… with what?"

"Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?"

I glanced at Grover, who was crossing his fingers.

"Um, sir," I said. "you haven't told me what it is yet."

Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part, the details."

Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the beach and instead of breaking apart, the sky and sea were boiling together.

"Poseidon and Zeus," I said. "They're fighting over something valuable… something that was stolen, aren't they?"

Chiron and Grover exchanged looks.

Chiron sat forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?"

My face felt hot. I wished I hadn't opened my big mouth. "The weather had been weird since Christmas, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And… I've also been having these dreams."

"I knew it," Grover said.

"Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered.

"But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes were bright with excitement. "It must be!"

"Only the Oracle can determine." Chiron stroked his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, Percy, you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt."

I let out a nervous laugh. "A _what_?"

"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm not talking about some tinfoiled-covered zigzag you'd see in a second grade play."

Actually I wasn't thinking that, but rather the fact lightning can be stolen even though there's still lightning now.

But Chiron continued. "I'm talking about a two foot long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god level explosives, also known as the Master Bolt. The symbol of Zeus' power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."

I got the point now. The lightning bolts I see are mere copies that aren't as powerful as the real deal and after what one of those weaker versions did to Gabe's car, I don't want to know what the real deal can do.

"And it's missing?"

"Stolen," Chiron said, "By you."

My mouth fell opened.

"At least"—Chiron held up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another's god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."

"But I didn't—"

"Patience and listen, child," Chiron said. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning."

"Didn't Apollo slay the Cyclops that made the master bolt?" I asked.

Chiron smiled. "Nice too know you paid attention to that story. Yes, Apollo did, but it is believed that the knowledge they had were passed down to their bretherin that came after them. But over time the lessons change, and the original plans were forgotten. But Zeus believes there are cyclopes that can replicate the master bolt if they had the original. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt to do so, which might topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his son. You were in New York over the winter holidays, and you are blessed with shapeshifting powers, which haven't been blessed on any demigod in thousands of years. You could easily used your powers to have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief."

"But I have no control over my powers! Every time I change was by chance or power boost from water. Not to mention I've never even been to Olympus and didn't know it was above the Empire State Building until Annabeth told me," I responded. "Zeus is crazy.'

Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds which were still now rolling straight over our valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid.

"Er, Percy…?" Grover said. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky."

"Perhaps _paranoid,_ " Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam…" He looked at me as if he actually expected me to remember this as well. I'm starting to wish I kept my mouth shut about Apollo slaying the first Cyclopes."

This doesn't make any sense. I couldn't even steal a slice of pizza from Gabe's poker party without getting busted without my powers, and Zeus got this idea that I somehow turned into an animal to sneak into Olympus and steal the Master Bolt for my dad.

Chiron was still waiting for an answer, so I decided I better start racking my brain for an answer.

"Something about a golden net," I answered. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods trapped Zeus and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler, right?"

"Correct," Chiron said. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you come along-the proverbial last straw."

"But I'm just a kid. I still have trouble shapeshifting," I responded.

"Percy," Grover cut in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II and fathered a mortal hero—"

"The same oath Zeus broke five years before Poseidon did," I pointed out.

"But in Zeus' mind you could be used against him," Grover stated. "Not to mention you are blessed with a really rare gift that could just be dangerous for him… that would put a twist in anyone's toga."

"But I didn't do anything. Poseidon—my dad—he couldn't have this master bolt stolen."

Chiron sighed. "Poseidon had children in the past with a history of thievery and stealing, the bandit Sciron and the golden boy Chrysaor being perfectly good examples, but most observers would agree that wasn't Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hope that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus' temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledge war would look like, Percy?"

"Bad?"

"Imagine the world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western Civilization turned into a battle ground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight. And you, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus wrath."

It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky.

This isn't fair to the camp. Zeus was punishing it just because I'm here. And it made me furious enough that I started to growl.

"So I have to find the stupid bolt," I said. "And return it to Zeus."

"What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the son of Poseidon return Zeus' property?"

"But if Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?"

"I believe I know." Chiron's expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago… well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle."

"Why can't you tell me where the bolt is beforehand?"

"Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge. So do you agree."

Chiron does have a good reason for not telling me, but it didn't help me.

I looked at Grover, who nodded encouragingly. Of course, he would. This might as well be his third chance for a searcher's license. He said it himself, our fates are still tied until we complete a quest. I don't think he realize if Zeus succeeds in killing me, he might not get his license since both of us would have to survive the quest.

"All right," I said. "It can't be any worse than spontaneous combustion."

"Then it's time you consult the Oracle," Chiron said. "Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. When you come down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more."

…

Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trapdoor.

I pulled the cord. The door swung down, and a wooden ladder clattered into place.

The warm air from above smelled like mildew and rotten wood and something else… a smell I remembered from biology class. Reptiles. The smell of snakes.

I held my breath and climbed.

The attic was filled with Greek hero junk: armor stands covered in cobwebs; once bright shields pitted with rust; old leather steamer trunks plastered with stickers saying ITHAKA, CIRCE'S ISLE, and LAND OF THE AMAZONS. One long table was stacked with glass jars filled with pickled things-severed hairy claws, huge yellow eyes, various other parts of monsters. A dusty mounted trophy on the wall looked like a giant snake's head, but with horns and a full set of shark's teeth. The plaque read, HYDRA HEAD #1, WOODSTOCK, N.Y., 1969.

By the window, sitting on a wooden tripod stool, was the most gruesome memento of all: a mummy. Not the wrapped-in-cloth kind, but a human female body shriveled to a husk. She wore a tie-dyed sundress, lots of beaded necklaces, and a headband over long black hair. The skin on her face was thin and leathery over her skull, and her eyes were glassy white slits, as if the real eyes had been replaced by marbles; she'd been dead a long, long time.

Looking at her sent chills up my back. And that was before she sat up on her stool and opened her mouth. A green mist poured from the mummy's mouth, coiling over the floor in thick tendrils, hissing like twenty thousand snakes. I stumbled over myself trying to get to the trapdoor, but it slammed shut. Inside my head, I heard a voice, slithering into one ear and coiling around my brain: _I am the spirit of Delphi, speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach, seeker, and ask._

I rather do anything but that, but I forced myself to take a deep breath.

This was obviously a dead mummy. Some kind of gruesome receptacle for something else, the power that was now swirling around me in the green mist. But it wasn't evil. It felt more like the Three Fates I'd seen knitting the yarn outside the highway fruit stand: ancient, powerful, and definitely _not_ human. But not particularly interested in killing me, either.

I got up the courage to ask, "What is my destiny?'

The mist swirled more thickly, collecting right in front of me and around the table with the pickled monster-part jars. Suddenly there were four men sitting around the table, playing card. Their faces became clearer. It was Smelly Gabe, Eddie, and the rest of their poker budies.

My fist clenched, though I knew this poker party couldn't be real. It was an illusion, made out of mist.

Gabe turned toward me and spoke in the raspy voice of the Oracle: _You shall go west, and face the god who has turned._

His buddy on the right looked up and said in the same voice: _You shall master your gift and see what is stolen returned._

The guy on the left threw in two poker chips, then said: _You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend._

Finally Eddie delivered the worst line of all: _And you shall failed to save what matters most in the end._

The figures began to dissolve. At first I was too stunned to say anything, but as the mist retreated, coiling into a huge green serpent and slithering back into the mouth of the mummy, I cried, "Wait! What do you mean? What friend? What will I fail to save?"

The tail of the mist snake disappeared into the mummy's mouth. She reclined back against the wall. Her mouth closed tight, as if it hadn't been opened in a hundred years. The attic was silent again, abandoned, nothing but a room full of mementos.

I got the feeling that I could stand here until I had cobwebs, too, and I wouldn't learn anything else as my audience with the Oracle was over.

…

"Well?" Chiron asked me.

I slumped into a chair at the pinochle table. "She said I would see what was stolen returned."

Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!"

"What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron pressed. "This is important."

My ears were still tingling from the reptilian voice. "She… she said I would go west and face a god who had turned. I would master my gift and see what is stolen returned."

"I knew it," Grover said. "And that's great that you get to master your gift too."

Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"

What can I tell him? A friend that would betray me? Not that I have that many. Then there's the fact I would fail to save what mattered most. It sounded that although the Master Bolt will be returned I still will fail.

"No," I said. "That's about it."

He studied my face. "Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."

I got the feeling he knew I was holding back something bad, and he was trying to make me feel better. Maybe this isn't the first time the Oracle gave bad news in a prophecy.

"Okay," I said, anxious to change topics. "So where do I go? Who's this god in the west?"

"Ah, think, Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain."

"Somebody else who wants to take over?" I guessed.

"Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."

I thought back to the story of how the world was divided. Zeus got the sky, Poseidon got the sea, and Hades—who was the oldest of the brothers ended up with the Underworld—something Hades wasn't happy about. It probably didn't help that he wasn't accepted on Olympus. I didn't even need to remember the broken oaths Zeus and Poseidon made—something they forced Hades into.

"Hades." I finally answered.

Chiron nodded. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility."

A scrap aluminum dribbled out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh-what?"

"A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminded him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."

"Yes, but—but Hades hates _all_ heroes," Grover protested. "Especially if he has found out Percy is a son of Poseidon…"

"A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this young half-blood before he can take on the quest."

"Great," I muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me."

"But a quest to…" Grover swallowed. "I mean couldn't the master bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year."

"Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."

Fire of anticipation burn inside me. The desire for revenge for the Fury, the Minotaur, and the hellhound. For a crime he was trying to frame me and my dad for a theft we hadn't committed.

Other than revenge, there was a dawn of realization. This was my chance to bring my mother back. Sure I had planned it since I came to camp, but I wanted to train and master my powers first that way I stand a better chance against the monsters first. But here was my chance.

Then I looked at Grover and faltered. He was trembling. He'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips.

He was so determined to go on a quest with me, to finally earn his searcher's license, but now that he realize where we need to go, he looked as if he want to take it back. It wouldn't be fair, especially when I remember the Oracle said I would fail.

"Look, if we know it's Hades," I told Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads."

"Suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron said. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?"

"You're saying I'm being used."

"I'm saying it was no accident Poseidon blessed you with the power to turn into animals, or that he has claimed you now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in desperate situation. He needs you."

My dad needs me. After twelve years of ignoring me, he now suddenly needs me. I don't know if I should feel resentful or grateful or happy or angry.

I looked at Chiron. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along haven't you?"

"I had my suspicions, your shapeshifting powers was a strong indicator as the last demigod to have it was a son of Poseidon. And, as I said… I've spoken to the Oracle, too."

I got the feeling there was a lot he wasn't telling me about his prophecy, but I decided I couldn't worry about that right now. After all, I was holding back information too.

"So let me get this straight," I said. "I'm supposed go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead. Find the most powerful weapon in the Universe. And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days."

"That's about right."

I looked at Grover, who gulped down the ace of hearts.

"Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly.

"You don't have to go," I told him. "I can't ask that of you."

"Oh…" He shifted his hooves. "No… it's just that satyrs and underground places… well…"

He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his T-shirt. "You saved my life, Percy. If… if you're serious about wanting me along. I won't let you down."

I felt so relieved I wanted to cry, though I didn't think that would be very heroic. Grover was the only friend I'd ever had for longer than a few months. I wasn't sure what good a satyr could do against the forces of the dead, but I felt better knowing he'd be withme.

"All the way, G-man." I turned to Chiron. "So where do we go west."

"The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like the Olympus. Right now, of course it's in America—in Los Angeles."

"Oh," I said. "So we just get on a plane—"

"No!" Grover shrieked. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?"

"No," I shook my head. "My mom tried to avoid taking me anywhere by flying. I just assumed it was because my grandparents died in a plane crash."

"I'm sorry to hear about how your grandparents died, Percy, but that wasn't the main reason, if it had any influence to your mother's reason at all, which I'm sure it did," Chiron quickly added the last part. "But think, you are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your father broke his oath to have you. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus' domain. You would never come down again alive. Especially now, under the circumstances, using your shapeshifting powers or using a pegasus, which might of protected you in the past, would be too risky.

Overhead, lightning cackled. Thunder boomed.

"Okay," I said, determined not to look at the storm. "So, I'll travel overland."

"That's right," Chiron said. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other has already volunteered, if you will accept her help."

"Gee," I said, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a quest like this?"

The air shimmered behind Chiron. Annabeth became invisible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.

"I've been waiting a long time for a quest, seaweed brain," she said. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up."

"If you do say so yourself," I said. "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?"

Her cheeks colored. "Do you want my help or not?"

"A trio," I said knowing I'll still need all the help I need. "That'll work."

"Excellent," Chiron said. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own."

Lightning flashed. Rain poured down on the meadows for possibly the first time ever.

"No time to waste," Chiron said. "I think you all should get packing."


	10. I Don't Think I'll be Allowed on a…

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **I Don't Think I'll be Allowed on a Bus Again**

It didn't take me long to pack. I decided to leave the Minotaur horn in my cabin, which left me only an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush to stuff in a backpack Grover had found for me.

The camp store loaned me one hundred dollars in mortal money and twenty golden drachmas. These coins were as big as Girl Scout cookies and had images of various Greek gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. The ancient mortal drachmas had been silver, Chiron told us, but Olympians never used less than pure gold. Chiron said the coins might come in handy for non-mortal transactions—whatever that meant. He gave Annabeth and me each a canteen of nectar and a Ziploc bag full of ambrosia squares, to be used only in emergencies, if we were seriously hurt. It was god food, Chiron reminded us. It would cure us of almost any injury, but it was lethal to mortals. Too much of it would make a half-blood very, very feverish. An overdose would burn us up, literally.

I understood it like medications, only when you overdose you possibly spontaneously combust instead of passing out and die if not treated.

Annabeth was bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she told me had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She carried a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she got bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve, I was sure the knife would get us busted the first time we went through a metal detector.

Grover his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. in his pocket was set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for hi, even though he only knew two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff's "So Yesterday," both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes.

We waved good-bye to the other campers, took one last at the strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House, then hiked up Half-Blood Hill to the tall pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus.

Chiron was waiting for us in his wheelchair. Next to him stood the surfer dude I'd seen when I was recovering in the sick room. According to Grover, the guy was the camp's head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body so he could never be surprised. Today, though, he was wearing a chauffeur's uniform, so I could only see extra peepers on his hands, face and neck.

"This is Argus," Chiron told me. "He will drive you into the city, and, er, well, keep an eye on things."

I heard footsteps behind us and turned to see Luke running up the hill, carrying a pair of basketball shoes.

"Hey!" he panted. "Glad I caught you."

Annabeth blushed, the way she always did when Luke was around.

"Just wanted to say good luck," Luke told me. "And I thought… um, maybe you could use these."

He handed me the sneakers, which looked pretty normal. They even smelled kind of normal.

Luke then said, _"Maia!"_

White bird wings sprouted out of the heels, startling me so much, I dropped them. The shoes flapped around on the ground until the wings folded up and disappeared.

"Awesome!" Grover said.

Luke smiled. "A gift from my dad, given to his kids normally when we reach a certain age or go on our first quest. They served me well on my quest, but these days I don't use them…" His expression turned sad. "Anyways, I thought these can give you breathing room until you can shapeshift into something that can fly."

I don't know what to say. It was cool enough that Luke had come to say good-bye. I'd been afraid he might resent me for getting so much attention the last few days. But here he was giving me a magic gift.

"Hey, man," I said. "Thanks."

"Listen, Percy…" Luke looked uncomfortable. "A lot of hopes are riding on you. So just… kill some monsters for me, okay?"

We shook hands. Luke patted Grover's head between his horns, then gave a good-bye hug to Annabeth, who looked like she might pass out.

After Luke was gone, I told her, "You're hyperventilating."

"Am not."

"You let him capture the flag instead of you, didn't you?"

"Oh… why do I want to go anywhere with you, Percy?"

"Because you always wanted to go on a quest."

Annabeth huffed and stomped down the other side of the hill, where a white SUV waited on the shoulder of the road. Argus followed, jingling his car keys.

I picked up the flying shoes and had a feeling I wouldn't be able to use these on this quest for the same reason I can't fly, Zeus's territory and he thinks I stole the master bolt. Heck it's too dangerous just for me to shapeshift into something that flies.

Then I have an idea. "Hey, Grover. You want a magic item?"

His eyes lit up. "Me?"

Pretty soon we'd laced the sneakers over his fake feet, and the world's first flying satyr was ready for launch.

"Wise choice, Percy." Chiron said, reassuring me this was the safest idea.

 _"Maia!"_ he shouted.

He got off the ground okay, but then fell over sideways so his backpack dragged through the grass. The winged shoes kept bucking up and down like tiny broncos.

"Practice," Chiron called after him. "You just need practice!"

"Aaaaa!" Grover went flying sideways down the hill like a possessed lawn mower, heading toward the van. Annabeth and Argus went after Grover to help him out.

I was about to head down and help when Chiron caught my arm. "I should have trained you better, Percy," he said. "If only I had more time. Hercules, Jason—they all got more training."

"That's okay. I just wish—"

I stopped myself because I was about to sound like a spoiled child not getting what he wants. Sure, I could turn into any animal, but I wish my dad still had given me a cool magic item to help on this quest.

"What am I thinking?" Chiron cried. "I can't let you get away without this."

He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and handed it to me. It was an ordinary disposable ballpoint, blank ink, removable cap. Probably cost thirty cents.

"This is a gift from your father. I kept it for years, not knowing you were who I was waiting for," Chiron explained. "I was actually planning to lend it to you at the museum, but before I knew it, you already destroyed the Fury. Now I know I was meant to give it to you at this moment. The prophecy is now clear. You are the one. Uncap the pen, Percy."

I wasn't sure of anything, but I went ahead and uncapped the pen. The pen grew longer and heavier in my hand. In half a second, I held a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edge blade, a leather-wrapped grip, and a flat hilt riveted with gold studs. Best of all, it felt balanced in my hand. I recognized it as the sword Chiron used back in Yancy Academy to challenge our knowledge.

"The sword has a long and tragic history that we need not go into," Chiron told me. "Its name is Anaklusmos."

"Riptide," I translated as the Ancient Greek word came so easy to me.

"Use it only for emergencies," Chiron said, "and only against monsters. No hero should harm mortals unless absolutely necessary, of course, but this sword wouldn't harm them in any case."

I looked at the wickedly sharp blade. "What do you mean it wouldn't harm mortals? How could it not?"

"The sword is celestial bronze. Forged by the Cyclopes, tempered in the heart of Etna, cooled in the River of Lethe. It's deadly to monsters, to any creatures from the Underworld, provided they don't kill you first. But the blade will pass through mortals like an illusion. They simply are not important enough for the blade to kill. And I should warn you: as a demigod, you can be killed by either celestial or normal weapons. You are twice as vulnerable."

"Good to know."

"Now recap the pen."

I touched the pen cap to the sword tip and instantly Riptide shrank down to a ballpoint pen again. Then a thought occur to me. What if I shapeshift while holding onto Riptide and loose my sword, or worse loose it in pen form. I was famous for losing pens at school.

"You can't," Chiron said.

"Can't what?"

"Lose Riptide in either pen or sword form," he said. It is enchanted. It will always reappear in your pocket, in a few minutes after so. Even in sword form if you drop the sword, it would return to your pocket in pen form, although it might take longer-especially if you were in animal form when you drop your sword. Try it."

I was wary, but I threw the pen as far as I could down the hill and watched it disappear in the grass.

After a few minutes, Chiron told me, "Now check your pocket."

Sure enough the pen was there.

"Okay, that's extremely cool," I admitted. "But what if a mortal sees me pulling out a sword, or turn into a beast?"

Chiron smiled. "Mist is a powerful thing, Percy."

"Mist?"

"Yes. Read _The_ _Illiad_. It's full of references to stuff. Whenever divine or monstrous elements mix with the mortal world, they generate Mist, which obscures the vision of humans. You will see things as they are as long as you are aware of it, being a half-blood, but humans will interpret things quite differently. Remarkable, really, the lengths which humans will go to fit things into their version of reality.

I put Riptide back in my pocket.

For the first time, the quest felt real. I was actually leaving Half-Blood Hill. I was heading west with no adult supervision, no backup but Annabeth and Grover coming with me, not even a cellphone. (Chiron said cellphones were traceable by monsters; if we used one it would be worse than sending up a flare.)

I had no weapons stronger than a sword to fight off monsters and only the hope I can master my shapeshifting powers before reaching the Land of the Dead.

"Chiron…" I said. "When you say the gods are immortal… I mean, there was a time before them, right?"

"Four ages before them, actually. The Time of the Titans was the Fourth Age, sometimes called the Golden Age, which is definitely a misnomer. This, the of Western Civilization and the rule of Zeus is the Fifth Age."

"So what was it like… before the gods?"

Chiron pursed his lips. "Even I am not old enough to remember that, child, but I know it was a time of darkness and savagery for mortals. Kronos, the lord of the Titans, called his reign the Golden Age because men lived innocent and free of all knowledge. But that was mere propaganda. The Titan king cared nothing for your kind except as appetizers or a source of cheap entertainment. It was only in the early reign of Lord Zeus, when Prometheus the good Titan brought fire to mankind, that your species began to progress, and even then Prometheus was branded a radical thinker. Zeus punished him severely, as you may recall. Of course, eventually the gods warmed to humans, and Western Civilization was born.

"But the gods can't die now, right? I mean as long as Western Civilization is alive, they're alive. So… even if I failed, nothing could happen so bad it would mess up _everything_ , right?"

Chiron gave me a melancholy smile. "No one knows how long the Age of the West will last, Percy. The gods are immortal, yes. But then, so were the Titans. _They_ still exist, locked away in their various prisons, forced to endure endless pain and punishment, reduced in power, but still very much alive. May the Fates forbid that the gods should ever suffer such doom, or that we should ever return to the darkness and chaos of the past. All we can do, child, is follow our destiny."

"Our destiny… assuming we know what that is."

"Relax," Chiron told me. "Keep a clear head. And remember, you may be about to prevent the biggest war in human history."

"Relax," I said. "I'm very relaxed."

When I got to the bottom of the hill, I looked back. Under the pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Chiron was now standing in full centaur form, holding his bow high in salute. Just your typical summer-camp send-off by your typical centaur.

…

Argus drove us out of the countryside and into western Long Island. It felt weird to be on a highway again. Annabeth and Grover sitting next to me as if we were normal carpoolers. After two weeks at Half-Blood Hill, the real world seemed like a fantasy. I found myself staring at every McDonald's, every kid in the back of his parent's car, every billboard and shopping mall.

"So far so good," I told Annabeth. "Ten miles and not a single monster."

She gave me an irritated look, which mean I said something that is bad luck for demigods. I'm starting to wish I saw that orientation film as it might have included all this stuff that demigods can and cannot say without worrying about trouble. Anything as long that doesn't require reading.

"It's bad luck that way, seaweed brain."

"Sorry! Some of us here are still new this demigod stuff," I responded. "Remind me again why you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you."

"Could've fooled me. I mean, before I was claimed, you actually tried to get along with me, but now you keep acting like that never happened," I responded.

She folded her cap of invisibility. "Look… we're just not supposed to get along, okay?"

"Oh right, because Poseidon and Athena are rivals, right? But surely their children-our siblings-had worked together before," I said. "What about during WWII? Churchill was one of my siblings leading the forces, right? Surely there were children of Athena that worked along side with him."

"That's different!" Annabeth said, "The world was at risk of children of Hades ruling it."

"And this isn't any better?" I asked.

"Just forget it," Annabeth responded.

In the front seat, Argus smiled. He didn't say anything, but one blue eye on the back of his neck winked at me.

Traffic slowed us down in Queens. By the time we got into Manhattan it was sunset and starting to rain.

Argus dropped us at the Greyhound Station on the Upper East Side, not far from my mom's and Gabe's apartment. Taped to a mailbox was a soggy flyer with my picture on it: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY?

Since there was no picture on my mom, it's not good. So I ripped it down before Annabeth and Grover could notice.

Argus unloaded our bags, made sure we got our bus tickets, then drove away, the eye on the back of his hand opening to watch us as he pulled out of the parking lot.

I thought about how close I was to my old apartment. On a normal day, my mom would be home from the candy store by now. Smelly Gabe was probably up there right now, playing poker, not even missing her.

Grover shouldered his backpack. He gazed down the street in the direction I was looking. "You want to now why she married him, Percy?"

I stared at him. "Were you reading my mind or something?"

"Just your emotions." He shrugged. "Guess I forgot to tell you satyrs can do that. You were thinking about your mom and stepdad, right?"

I nodded, wondering what else Grover might've forgotten to tell me.

"Your mom married Gabe for _you_ ," Grover told me. "You call him 'Smelly', but you got no idea. The guy has this aura… Yuck. I can smell him from here. I can smell traces of him on you, and you haven't been near him for a week."

"Thanks," I said. "Where's the nearest shower?"

"You should be grateful, Percy. Your stepfather smells so repulsively human he could mask the presence of any demigod. As soon as I took whiff inside his Camaro, I knew: Gabe has been covering your scent for years. If you hadn't lived with him every summer, you probably would've been found by monsters a long time ag. Your mom stayed with him to protect you. She was a smart lady. She must've loved you a lot to put up with that guy—if that makes you feel any better."

It didn't, but I forced myself not to show it. I'll see her again, I thought. She isn't gone."

I wondered if Grover could still read my emotions, mixed up as they were. I was glad he and Annabeth were with me, but I felt guilty that I hadn't been straight with them. I hadn't told them the real reason I'd said yes to this crazy quest.

The truth was, I didn't care about retrieving Zeus's lightning bolt, or saving the world, or even helping my father out of trouble. The more I thought about it, I resented Poseidon for never visiting me, never helping my mom, never even sending a lousy child-support check. He'd only claimed me because he needed a job done.

All I cared about was my mom. Hades had taken her unfairly, and Hades was going to give her back.

 _You will be betrayed by one who calls you friend,_ the Oracle whispered in my mind. _And you shall failed to save what matters most in the end._

 _Shut_ _up_ , I told it.

…

The rain kept coming down.

We got restless waiting for the bus and decided to play some Hacky Sack with one of Grover's apples. Annabeth was unbelievable. She could bounce the apple off her knee, her elbow, her shoulder, whatever. I wasn't too bad myself.

The game ended when I tossed the apple toward Grover and it got too close to his mouth. In one mega goat bite, our Hacky Sack disappeared—core, stem, and all.

Grover blushed. He tried to apologize, but Annabeth and I were too busy cracking up.

Finally the bus came. As we stood in line to board, Grover started looking around, sniffing the air like he smelled his favorite school cafeteria delicacy—enchiladas.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said tensely. "Maybe nothing."

But I could tell it wasn't nothing. I started looking over my shoulder, too.

I was relieved when we finally got on board and found seats together in the back of the bus. We stowed our backpacks. Annabeth kept slapping her Yankees cap nervously against her thigh.

As the last passenger got on, Annabeth clamped her hand onto my knee. "Percy."

An old lady had just boarded the bus. She wore a crumpled velvet dress, lace gloves, and a shapeless orange-knit hat that shadowed her face, and she carried a big paisley purse. When she tilted her head up, her black eyes glittered, and my heart skipped a beat.

It was Mrs. Dodds. It looked like she's using an older, more withered version, but I recognize the evil face anywhere.

I started scrunching down in my seat.

Behind her came two more old ladies: one in a green hat, one in purple hat. Otherwise they looked exactly like Mrs. Dodds—same hands, paisley handbags, wrinkled velvet dresses. They were like a triplet of demon grandmothers.

They sat in front now, right behind the driver. The two on aisle crossed their legs over the walkway, making an X. IT was casual enough, but it sent a clear message: nobody leaves.

The bus pulled out of the station, and we headed through the slick streets of Manhattan. "So much for her staying dead for a lifetime," I said in a low growl. "I hope her sisters don't taste the same as her sister."

"This isn't a time to joke," Annabeth responded.

"I'm not joking. Mrs. Dodds tasted horrible when I slayed her as a lion," I responded, "I want to wash my mouth out just remembering the taste."

"All three," Grover whimpered. _"Di_ _immortales!"_

"It's okay," Annabeth said, obviously thinking hard. "The Furies. The three worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. No problem. We'll just slip out the windows."

"They won't open," Grover moaned.

"A back exit?" she suggested.

"There isn't one," I said.

Even if there had been, it wouldn't helped. By that time, we were on Ninth Avenue, heading for the Lincoln Tunnel.

"What are the chances mortals might think we're being attacked?" I asked.

"Hard to say. Normally mortals don't have good eyes," Annabeth told me. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist. We can't count on their help. Maybe an emergency exit in the roof…?"

We hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the bus went dark except for the running lights down the aisle. It was eerily quiet without the sound of rain.

Mrs. Dodds got up and in a flat, rehearsed like tone, she announced to the whole bus: "I need to use the rest-room."

"So do I," said the other two sisters.

They all started coming down the aisle.

"I've got it," Annabeth said. "Percy, take my hat."

"What?"

"You're the one they want. Turn invisible and go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get to the front and get away."

"But you guys—"

"There's an outside chance they might not notice us," Annabeth said. "You're a son of the Big Three. Your smell might be overpowering."

"I can't just leave you."

"Don't worry about us," Grover said. "Go!"

My hands trembled. I felt like a coward, but then a crazier idea popped in my head. I took the Yankees cap and put it on.

When I looked down, my body wasn't there anymore.

I started creeping up the aisle. I manage to get up ten rows, then ducked into an empty seat just as the Furies walked past.

Mrs. Dodds stopped, sniffing, and looked straight at me. My heart was pounding.

Apparently, she didn't see anything. She and her sisters kept going.

I was free. I made it to the front of the bus. We were almost through the Lincoln Tunnel now. Once we were out, I planned to make my move. But before I did, I heard hideous wailing from the back row.

The old ladies were now in their shriveled form with bat wings and claws on hands and feet like Mrs. Dodds was when I first fought her. Only this time their handbags had turned into fiery whips.

Furies surrounded Grover and Annabeth, lashing their whips, hissing: "Where is it? Where?"

"He's not here!" Annabeth yelled. "He's gone!"

The Furies raised their whips.

Annabeth drew her bronze knife. Grover grabbed a tin can from his snack bag and prepared to throw it.

The other people on the bus were screaming and cowering, obviously seeing something. Even bus driver was distracted, trying to see what was going on in his rearview mirror.

We weren't out of the tunnel, but it was now or never while I'm still invisible.

I grabbed the wheel from him and jerked it to the left. Everybody howled as they were thrown to the right, and i heard what I hoped was the sound of three Furies smashing against the windows.

"Hey!" the driver yelled. "Hey—whoa!"

We wrestled for the wheel. The bus slammed against the side of the tunnel, grinding metal throwing sparks a mile behind us.

We careened out of the Lincoln Tunnel and back into the rainstorm, people and monsters tossed around the bus, cars plowed inside like bowling pins.

Somehow the driver found an exit. We shot off the highway, through half a dozen traffic lights, and ended up barreling down one of those New Jersey rural roads where you can't believe there's so much nothing right across the river from New York. There were woods to our left, the Hudson River to our right, and the driver seemed to be veering toward the river.

I then hit the emergency brake causing the bus to wailed, spun a full circle on the wet asphalt and crashed into the trees. The emergency lights came on. The door flew open. The bus driver was the first one out, the passengers yelling as they stampeded after him. I dodge them by sitting in the driver's seat.

The Furies regained their balance. They lashed their whips at Annabeth while she waved her knife and yelled in Ancient Greek to back off. Grover threw tin cans.

Not just about to leave my friends just yet, I decided now was the time to take advantage of the passengers being gone. I took off the invisible cap and stuffed it in my pocket with new found energy surging through me.

I thought back to the museum, and imagine myself turning into that same lion, as I felt my body change shape and fur sprouted around my neck forming a mane.

I roared loudly as I lunge through the aisles at one of the furies that wasn't Mrs. Dodds. She didn't have time to turn around before I was ontop of her, snapping her neck with the bite of my mighty jaws. Let tell you, she doesn't taste any better than her sister.

Mrs. Dodds and her other sister hopped on top of the seats on either side of me.

"Perseus Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said, in a deep southern accent. "You have offended the gods. You shall die."

Annabeth used this time to jump on the back of Mrs. Dodds in a wrestler's hold and yanked her backward. Meanwhile Grover tried to ripped the whip out of the other fury's hands.

"Ow!" he yelled. "Ow! Hot! Hot!"

Despite his fail attempt to get the whip, he did distract the fury long enough for me to lunged at her, ripping her apart with fangs and claws.

Yep, all three Furies tasted disgusting.

Mrs. Dodds was trying to get Annabeth off her back. She kicked, clawed, hissed and bit, but Annabeth held on while Grover tried to tie up her legs with her own whip. Finally they both shoved her backward into the aisle. Mrs. Dodds tried to get up, but she didn't have room to flap her bat wings, so she kept falling down.

I transformed back to human form, feeling no need to maintain lion form at this point. Plus I wasn't about to have my third taste of Furies for the day. I took off the lid from Riptide, allowing it to take full form. I don't know how, but the invisible cap was still in my pocket.

Mrs. Dodds hissed when she saw Riptide. "Zeus will destroy you!" she promised. "Hades will have your soul!"

I swiped my sword at her and cleanly cut through her as she turned to sand.

"Not today," I said.

Thunder shook the bus. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

"Get out!" Annabeth yelled at me. "Now!"

This time I didn't hesitated as the three of us rushed outside and found the other passengers wandering around in a daze, arguing with the driver, or running around in circles yelling, "We're going to die!" A Hawaiian shirted tourist with a camera snapped my photograph before I could recap my sword.

"Our bags!" Grover realized. "We left our—"

BOOOOOM!

Obviously, Zeus used stronger bolt of lightning than what he used on Gabe's camero, as the windows of the bus exploded and lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof. Passengers were now running for cover.

"Run!" Annabeth said. "We got to get out of here while the passengers are distracted!"

We plunged into the woods as the rain poured down, the bus in flames behind us, and nothing but darkness ahead.

* * *

 **A/N:** I thought I save Percy using only Riptide for Medusa. No, there won't be any magical thermos that acts like Percy's personal water cannon in this series. Although I still say that was the best magical item I created just for Percy, even if it ends up being the only one.

Anyways, for those who didn't noticed I posted a new story before finishing this chapter. Don't worry, it's a one-shot short story. I requested for to add the Blue Plague book series on their site and they did, but for it to be noticed a story must be added, so I did a quick story called 'Prince's Discovery' basically about one of the side characters unintentionally responsible for the plague spreading pass the boarders of the Congo finally realizing that his worse nightmares came true, but in the end of the story I mention a little something that brings up the main point of the whole series. It's rated M because I don't want underage readers go looking for the books to read as it involves blood, battle, ranger bantering that tend to get out of control, and a lot of curse words. Not to mention supply check scenes that still gives me headaches and scientific termology talk that gives me even bigger headaches.

Anyway, I do plan to get further involved with the Blue Plague series with maybe crossovers, and possible cannon crossover with The Nine-Tail Fox's Son but I got to come up with a good entry point into the Blue Plague series, as once I'm pass the chapters where the plague hits America, there are only a handful of times when the character can just show up without getting eaten, killed, or worse turned into the monsters of the series.

As for why The Nine-Tail Fox's Son, well it got to do with Naruto technically being the new Nine-Tail Fox a.k.a. a tailed beast and animals except for humans being immune to the plague that creates the monsters. Why animals are immune? I actually don't know as they didn't make it clear in the series, but I think it got something to do with what the virus causing the plague is made out of, and that's just something you have to read Blue Plague books to find out, that is if you can get through those parts without a headache,

One more warning, there's a lot of talks about different types of guns and military weapons. So if you don't know all your guns, good luck with the Blue Plague books.


	11. I Slay One of My Dad's Ex-Girlfriends

**A/N:** I don't own the rights to any of the Percy Jackson series or it's characters. That right goes to Rick Riordan. I also don't own the rights to Animorph including it's title.

I am, however, the person who posted 'The Tales of...' series.

This is not a crossover of the Percy Jackson series with the book/tv series Animorph, despite what you might think from the title. I just thought it be a proper name for the ability to turn into animals since that's why the tv/book series 'Animorph' was called that in the first place.

* * *

 **I Slay One of My Dad's Ex-Girlfriends**

In a way, it's nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you're waling away from a bus that's just been attacked by monster old ladies and blown up by lightning, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck; when you're a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day.

So there we were, Annabeth and Grover and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses.

Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once."

I was pretty much in shock myself. The explosion of bus windows still rang in my ears. But Annabeth kept us along, saying: "Come on! The farther away we get, the better."

"All our money was back there," I reminded her. "Our food and clothes. Everything."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight—"

"I saved your life," I responded.

"You didn't need to protect me, Percy. I would've been fine."

"Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover put in, "but fine."

"Shut up, goat boy," said Annabeth.

Grover brayed mournfully. "Tin cans… a perfectly good bag of tin cans."

We sloshed across mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry.

After a few minutes, Annabeth fell into line next to me. "Look, I…" Her voice faltered. "I appreciate your coming back for us, okay? That was really brave."

"We're a team right?"

She was silent for a few more steps. "It's just that if you died… aside from the fact that it would really suck for you, it would mean the quest was over. This may be my only chance to see the real world."

The Thunderstorm had finally let up. The city glow faded behind us in almost total darkness. I couldn't see anything of Annabeth except a glint of her blond hair.

"You haven't left Camp Half-Blood since you were seven?" I asked her.

"No… only short field trips. My dad—it didn't work out for me living at home. I mean, Camp Half-Blood _is_ my home." She was rushing her words out now, as if she were afraid somebody might try to stop her. "At camp you train and train. And that's all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That's where you learn whether you're any good or not."

If I didn't know better, I could've sworn I heard doubt in her voice.

"You're pretty good with that knife," I said.

"You think so?"

"Heck yeah, you held your own real well piggy backing Mrs. Dodds," I responded.

"Well… you did make a good lion back there," Annabeth said.

"Thanks. I would of took a chunk of Mrs. Dodds as a Lion, but the awful taste of two of her sisters were one too many for me," I responded. "Even if we had our bags, I wished I brought some mouth wash. You think this power comes with a way to rid of the taste of monsters."

"Be lucky you can't smell them as well," Grover said. "I doubt what I can smell is any worse than what you can taste."

Annabeth and I chuckled at that statement.

"You know," Annabeth said, "maybe I should tell you… Something funny back on the bus…"

Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill _toot-toot-toot,_ like the sound of an owl being tortured.

"Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, we could get out of these woods!"

He pulled out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff.

Instead of finding a path, I immediately slammed into a tree and got a nice-size knot on my head.

Add to the list of superpowers I did _not_ have: infrared vision.

After tripping and feeling miserably for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized I hadn't eaten anything unhealthy since I'd arrived at Half-Blood Hill, where we lived on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph prepared barbecue. This boy needed a double cheeseburger.

We kept walking until I saw a deserted two lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990s movie, and one open business, which was the source of the neon light and the good smell.

It wasn't a fast-food restaurant like I'd hoped. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos and wooden Indians and cement grizzly bears and stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was impossible for me to read, because if there's anything worse for my dyslexia than regular English, it's red cursive neon English.

To me, it looked like: _ATNYU_ _MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM_.

"What the heck does that say?" I asked.

"I don't know," Annabeth said. "I'm Dyslexic too."

Surprising considering Annabeth loves to read, but it explains every book she has is in Ancient Greek. Less of a headache reading something you can read without letters swimming off the page.

Grover translated: "Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium."

Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes, ugly bearded little runts, smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken.

I crossed the street, following the smell of the hamburgers.

"Hey…" Grover warned.

"The lights are on inside," Annabeth said. "Maybe it's open."

"Snack bar," I said wistfully.

"Snack bar," she agreed.

"Are you two crazy?" Grover said. "This place is weird."

We ignored him.

The front lot was a forest of statues: cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps.

 _"Bla-ha-ha!"_ he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!"

We stopped at the warehouse door.

"Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters."

"Your nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?"

"Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian."

"You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," I reminded him.

"Those are vegetables."

"What about that statement about me being lucky about not being able to smell monsters?"

"Taste buds and sense of smell are connected to each other. You know, stronger the smell, stronger the taste. I don't need to eat monsters to get an idea what they might taste like," Grover responded. "Come on. Let's leave. These statues are… looking at me."

Then the door creaked open, and standing in front of us was a tall Middle Eastern woman-at least, I assumed she was Middle Eastern, because she wore a long black gown that covered everything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. Her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was about all I could make out. Her coffee-colored hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant, so I imagined she was a grandmother who had once been a beautiful lady.

Her accent sounded vaguely Middle Eastern, too. She said, "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?"

"They're… um…" Annabeth started to say.

"We're orphans," I said.

"Orphans?" the woman said. The word sounded alien in her mouth. "But, my dears! Surely not!"

"We got separated from our caravan," I said. "Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost. Is that food I smell?"

"Oh, my dears," the woman said. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There's a dining area."

We thanked her and went inside.

Annabeth muttered to me. "Circus caravan?"

"Always have a strategy, right?"

"Your head is full of kelp."

The warehouse was filled with more statues—people in all different poses, wearing all different outfits and with different expressions on their faces. I was thinking you'd have to have pretty huge garden to fit even one of these statues, because they were all life-size. But mostly, I was thinking about food.

Go ahead, call me an idiot for walking into a strange lady's shop like that just because I was hungry, but I do impulsive stuff sometimes. Plus, you've never smelled Aunty Em's burgers. The aroma was like laughing gas in the dentist's chair—it made everything else go away. I barely noticed Grover's nervous whimpers, or the way the statues' eyes seemed to follow me, or the fact that Aunty Em had locked the door behind us. Heck, I wasn't even bothered by the taste of Fury still in my mouth.

All I care about was finding the dining area. And sure enough there it was at the back of the warehouse, a fast-food counter with a grill, a soda fountain, a pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Everything you could want, plus a few steel picnic tables out front.

"Please, sit down,' Aunty Em said.

"Awesome," I said.

"Um," Grover said reluctantly, "we don't have any money, ma'am."

Before I could jab him in the ribs, Aunty Em said, "No, no, children. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat, for such nice orphans."

"Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth said.

Aunty Em stiffened, as if Annabeth had done something wrong, but then the old woman relaxed just as quickly, so I figured it must've been my imagination.

"Quite all right, Annabeth," she said. "You have such beautiful gray eyes, child." Only later did I wonder how she knew Annabeth's name, even though we had never introduced ourselves.

Our hostess disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. Before we knew it, she'd brought us plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and XXL servings of French fries.

I was halfway through my burger before I remembered to breathe.

Annabeth slurped her shake.

Grover picked at the fries, and eyed the tray's waxed paper liner as if he might go for that, but he still looked too nervous to eat.

"What that hissing noise?" he asked.

Annabeth shook her head. I listened, trying to focus on my animal powers that kick in when I'm in human form: stronger sense of smell and hearing. Thinking back, it could be that I'm relaxed by the welcoming of this place combine my still struggle with my powers, but I barely made out what Grover was talking about, a low hissing sound, similar to snakes, but it seemed muffled.

"Hissing?" Aunty Em asked. "Do you have excellent hearing, Grover?"

"We take vitamins for our ears," I said. "Grover more than me. But I do hear hissing too."

"Admirable. Perhaps you two hear the deep-fryer," Aunty Em responded. "Now please, relax."

Normally I question the fact that the fryer doesn't explain the hissing being muffled, but her voice was so satisfying, especially after the burger.

Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off her headdress, even to cook, and now she sat forward and interlaced her fingers and watched us eat. As satisfying as this was, her staring at me as I ate was still unsettling, so I try to make small talk with our hostess.

"So, you sell gnomes," I said, trying to sound interested.

"Oh, yes," Aunty Em said. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know."

"A lot of business on this road?"

"Not so much, no. Since the highway was built… most cars, they do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get."

My neck tingled, as if somebody else was looking at me. I turned, but it was just a statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than you see in most garden statues. But something was wrong with her face. It looked as if she were startled, or even terrified.

"Ah," Aunty Em said sadly. "You noticed some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face."

"You make these statues yourself?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are my company." The sadness in her voice sounded so deep and so real that I couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

Annabeth had stopped eating. She sat forward and said, "Two sisters?"

"It's a terrible story," Aunty Em said. "Not one for children, really. You see, Annabeth, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a … a boyfriend, you know, and this bad woman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survive, but at a price. Such a price."

I wasn't sure what she meant, but I felt bad for her. My eyelids kept getting heavier, my full stomach making me sleepy. Poor old lady. Who would want to hurt somebody so nice?

"Percy?" Annabeth was shaking me to get my attention. "Maybe we should go. I mean, the ringmaster will be waiting."

She sounded tense. I wasn't sure why. Grover was eating the waxed paper off the tray now, but if Aunty Em found that strange, she didn't say anything.

"Such beautiful gray eyes," Aunty Em told Annabeth again. "My, yes, it has been a long time since I've seen gray eyes like those."

She reached out as if stroke Annabeth's cheek, but Annabeth stood up abruptly.

"We really should go."

"Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up. "The ringmaster is waiting! Right!"

I didn't want to leave. I felt full and content. Aunty Em was so nice. I wanted to stay with her a while.

"Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?"

"A pose?" Annabeth asked warily.

"A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children."

Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I don't think we can, ma'am. Come on, Percy—"

"Sure we can," I said. I was irritated with Annabeth for being so bossy, so rude to an old lady who'd just fed us for free. "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?"

"Yes, Annabeth," the woman purred. "No harm."

I could tell Annabeth didn't like it, but she allowed Aunty Em to lead us bak out the front door, into the garden of statues.

Aunty Em directed us to a park bench next to the stone Ferdinand. "Now," she said, "I'll just position you correctly. The young girl in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side."

"Not much light for a photo," I remarked.

"Oh, enough," Aunty Em said. "Enough for us to see each other, yes?"

"Where's your camera?" Grover asked.

Aunty Em stepped back, as if to admire the shot. "Now, the face is most difficult. Can you give me a large smile please, everyone?"

Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand."

"Grover," Aunty Em chastised, still without a camera. "This way, dear."

"Percy—" Annabeth said.

Some instinct warned me to listen to Annabeth, but I was fighting the sleeping feeling, the comfortable lull that came from the food and the old lady's voice.

"I will just be a moment," Aunty Em said. "You know, I can't see you very well in this veil…"

"Percy, something's wrong," Annabeth insisted.

"Wrong?" Aunty Em said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. "Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?"

"That _is_ Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover gasped.

"Look away from her!" Annabeth shouted. She whipped her Yankees cap onto her head and vanished. Her invisible hands pushed Grover and me both off the bench.

I heard Grover scrambling off in one direction and Annabeth in another. But I was too dazed to move until I heard a strange rasping sound above me. My eyes rose to Aunty Em's hands, which had turned gnarled and warty, with sharp bronze talons for fingernails.

Having enough experience of knowing talons for fingernails normally mean monsters, I broke out of my trance and felt my legs fused together and my arms fused to my body as I turn into a snake and slithered away behind a large statue and tried to turn back to being human, only I can't for some reason.

Dang it! When will I get the full hang of these powers?

 _"Maia!"_ Grover yelled as he kick started his flying shoes.

"Come on out, Percy. I don't destroy you. Why would I destroy such a pretty face?" Aunty Em said. "Look up and stay with me forever."

I fought the urge to obey. Instead I looked to one side and saw one of those glass spheres people put in gardens—a gazing ball. I could see Aunty Em's dark reflection in the orange glass, her headdress was gone, revealing her face as a shimmering pale circle. Her hair was litterally snakes writhing around.

Of course, of all monsters Aunty Em has to be, it be Medusa.

I thought back to the stories of Medusa, and how to kill her. Fortunately for me, I'm familiar with it as my mom use to tell me stories of my name sake: the hero Perseus who always win—including against Medusa.

"Reflection," I said to myself. "He used reflection from his shield to avoid being turned into stone

Problem was that Medusa was asleep when my namesake killed her. I'm not so fortunate as she was wide awake.

"The Gray-Eyed One did this to me, Percy," Medusa said, and she didn't sound anything like a monster. Her voice invited me to look up, to sympathize with a poor old grandmother. "Annabeth's mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman into this."

"Don't listen to her!" Annabeth's voice shouted, somewhere in the statuary. "Run, Percy!"

"Silence!" Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr. "You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy's daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer."

I slithered to another statue.

"Do you really want to help the gods?" Medusa asked. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest, Percy? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain.'

Then I heard a buzzing sound, like two-hundred-pound hummingbird in a nosedive.

I turned to see Grover flying in from twelve o'clock with his winged shoes fluttering, Grover, holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat. His eyes were shut tight, his head twitched from side to side. He was navigating by ears and nose alone.

"I'll get her!" Grover yelled at me as he dived.

I turned away as I heard Thwack! followed by Medusa roared with rage.

"You miserable satyr," she snarled. "I'll add you to my collection!"

"That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back.

I slithered away and hid in the statuary while Grover swooped down for another pass.

Ker-whack!

"Arrgh!" Medusa yelled, her snake hair hissing and spitting.

This time around I manage to change back to human, only to hear Annabeth's voice right next to me say, "Percy!"

I jumped so high my feet nearly cleared a garden gnome. "Jeez! Don't do that!"

Annabeth took off her Yankees cap and became visible. "You have to cut her head off."

"What? Are you crazy? Let's just get out of here."

"Medusa is a menace. She's evil. I'd kill her myself, but…" Annabeth swallowed, as if she were about to make a difficult admission. "But your sword is better off for this. Besides, I'd never get close to her. She'd slice me up to bits because of my mother. You—you've got a chance."

"What? I can't—"

"Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues.

She pointed to a pair of statue lovers, a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by the monster.

"Okay, fine. But if I turned into an animal, I can't access my sword," I responded. "And even if I can, I don't know any animal that can fight with a sword."

"You're right, you'll have to approach this as human," Annabeth said. She then grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "A polished shield would be better."

I get where she's coming from. "As long as it has a reflection it should work."

"You actually know the story?" Annabeth half mocked but half shock.

"My mom use to tell me the stories of my name sake," I responded.

"Hey, guys!" Grover yelled somewhere above us. "I think she's unconscious!"

 _"Roooaaarrr!"_

"Maybe not," Grover corrected. He went in for another pass with the tree branch.

"Hurry," Annabeth told me. "Grover's got a great nose, but he'll eventually crash."

I took out my pen and uncapped it. The bronze of Riptide elongated in my hand.

I followed the hissing and spitting sounds of Medusa's hair.

I kept my eyes locked on the gazing ball so I would only glimpse Medusa's reflection, not the real thing. Then, in the green tinted glass, I saw her.

Grover was coming in for another turn at bat, but this time he flew a little too low. Medusa grabbed the stick and pulled him off course. He tumbled through the air and crashed into the arms of a stone grizzly bear with a painful "Ummphh!"

Medusa was about to lunge at him when I yelled, "Leave him alone!"

I advanced on her, which wasn't easy, holding a sword and a glass ball. If she charged, I'd have a hard time defending myself.

But she let me approach—twenty feet, ten feet.

I could see the reflect[ion of her ugly face, which made me glad the green swirls of the gazing ball was distorting it, because I had a feeling it looks worse.

"You wouldn't harm an old woman, Percy," she crooned. "I know you wouldn't."

I hesitated, keeping my eyes on the gazing ball to remind myself that she wasn't really an old lady. I even faked a look of my arms going weak but kept quiet.

I must of looked convincing, because from the cement grizzly, Grover moaned, "Percy, don't listen to her!"

Medusa cackled. "Too late."

She lunged at me with her talons.

 _Now,_ I thought as I slashed up my sword, and heard a sickening _shlock!_ There was a hiss, like a wind rushing out of a cavern—which I guess was Medusa disintegrating.

Something fell to the ground next to my foot. It took all my willpower not to look, I could feel warm ooze soaking into my sock, little dying snake heads tugging at my shoelaces. I don't think I'll be turning into a snake again anytime soon.

"Oh, yuck," Grover said. His eyes were still tightly closed, so he must of heard the gurgling and steaming. "Mega-yuck."

Annabeth came up next to me, her eyes fixed on the sky. She was holding Medusa's black veil. She said, "Don't move."

Without looking down, she very carefully knelt down and draped the monster's head back in black cloth, then picked it up. It was still dripping green juice, which I had a hard time believing that anything could have been born from when my namesake cut Medusa's head off.

"Are you okay?" she asked me, her voice trembling.

"Yeah," I said, not adding the effect that I want to be sick. "Why didn't… why didn't the head evaporate?"

"Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," she said. "Same as your minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still turn you to stone."

I nodded, remembering that my namesake used the head to turn a sea monster into stone.

Grover moaned as he climbed from the grizzly statue. He had a big welt on his forehead. His green rasta cap hung from one of his little goat horns, and his fake feet had been knocked off his hooves. The magic sneakers were flying aimlessly around his head. I held back my laugh as it reminded me of cartoon characters with large bumbs on their head as something flying flies around their head.

"The Red Baron," I said. "Good job, man."

He managed a bashful grin. "That really was _not_ fun, though. Well, the hitting her with a stick part, that was fun. but crashing into a concrete bear? _Not_ fun."

He snatched his shoes out of the air. I recapped my sword. Together, the three of us stumbled back to the warehouse.

We found some old plastic grocery bags behind the snack counter and double-wrapped Medusa's head. We plopped it on the table where we'd eaten dinner and sat around it, too exhausted to speak.

Finally I said, "So do we have Athena to thank for this monster, or my dad had some part in this."

Annabeth and Grover looked at me in shock.

"My mom use to tell me stories of my namesake," I reminded them. "Including of my half-brothers born from Medusa's blood."

"It was your dad," Annabeth said. " They once decided to meet in my mother's temple."

"And because my dad was another Olympian, she only punished Medusa," I said.

Annabeth nodded. "Medusa had her two sisters who helped her get into the temple, they became the three gorgons. That's why Medusa wanted to slice me up., but she wanted to preserve you as a nice statue. She's still sweet on your dad. You probably reminded her of him."

"Please don't remind me about her plans," I responded. "Who makes business with Medusa anyways?"

"You'll find out when we enter the Underworld," Annabeth said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Before Annabeth could answer, Grover interrupted: "What are we going to with the head?"

I stared at the thing. One little snake was hanging out of the hole in the plastic. The words printed on the side of the bag said: WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS!

Yeah, business—meaning jobs. We just seem to keep running into monsters doing their jobs, because all the gods could ended up preparing for the worse war ever. At this rate, we'd never make it to L.A. alive, much less before the summer solstice. But do the gods care, or are we just their pawns?

I got up. "I'll be back."

"Percy," Annabeth called after me. "What are you—"

I searched the back of the warehouse until I found Medusa's office. Her account book showed her six most recent sales, proving what Annabeth meant earlier. I found out quickly who were the buyers too: Hades and Persephone.

Of course, it be Hades.

I skimmed through it and found the billing address: DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. I took the bill, folded it up and stuffed it in my pocket.

In the cash register I found twenty dollars, a few golden drachmas, and some packing slips for Hermes Overnight Express, each with a little leather bag attached for coins. I rummage around the rest of the office until I found the right-size box.

I went back to the picnic table, packed up Medusa's head, and filled out a delivery slip:

The Gods  
Mount Olympus  
600th Floor,  
Empire State Building  
New York, NY  
With best wishes,  
PERCY JAMES JACKSON

"They're not going to like that," Grover warned. "They'll think you're impertinent."

I poured some golden drachmas into the pouch. As soon as I closed it, there was a sound like a cash register. The package floated off the table and disappeared with a _pop!_

"I _am_ impertinent," I said.

"Come on," Annabeth said, looking shock and resigned on the idea that I had a major talent of ticking off the gods. "We need a new plan."


End file.
